Authors: Sharon Joss
Steam Dogs (25 page)
With a whoop and a grin, Simon leapt from the
Il Colibri,
and plunged into the water tank some forty feet below. The
sound of the crowd roaring turned to stamping as the audience pounded the
bleachers with their feet. This was a bigger audience than they’d ever had
before.
And a bigger thrill.
He gave a wave to the crowd and heaved himself out of the cold
water. Nuncio was there, and Simon gratefully accepted the robe the linesman
offered him. With a final wave to the screaming crowd, they strolled slowly
back to the hangars to the sounds of cheering, which changed to applause as the
great silver German airship,
Jarvis,
took
the field.
Nuncio pointed to the viewing platform. “The English Queen arrived
just as you took to the field. She saw the whole thing.”
Sure enough, a small, thickset woman in a coal-black dress was
seated regally on a chair draped with rich fabrics, flanked by attendants on
either side. Behind her, several rows of dignitaries and officials stood at
attention.
“Good. Arvel will be pleased.” Simon knew his dive had less to do
with demonstrating the design of their airship than showmanship, but based on
the audience response they were practically assured of a big fat royal
contract. Everything was working out just as they’d planned. They’d already
identified a site in Capri to build their headquarters and manufacturing plant.
Not that it mattered. He’d already made the decision on the
Queen’s jewels. Tonight, they’d be rich. The
Alberta
was too sweet a job to pass up. Only a few more hours to
go. He wanted to speak with Welsie first, though. He had to make sure she was
safely among the crew before he left.
Vectis’s bark sounded from behind him. Simon turned and suppressed
a groan. Striding toward him came that ungrateful police inspector, Greenslade.
The man hadn’t even combed his hair since he’d last seen him.
“Hold up there Atters, I’d like a word.”
Simon gave the inspector a false smile. He could afford to be
gracious, now. “Of course. Inspector. Lovely to see you again.” He told Nuncio
that he’d meet up with him later at the ship. “But let’s clear the field first,
eh? Or those Germans will be mistaking us for targets, otherwise.”
Simon angled his direction, moving around the back of the hangar,
where the sounds of gunfire and roar of the crowd would be buffered somewhat by
the buildings. Back here, there was nothing between them and the Ferry Road
that ringed the Island, except a wide swath of marsh grasses and a small church
near the Millwall dock.
“What is it, then?”
“That thing from last night--.” Greenslade glanced around, as if
worried they’d be overheard. “It takes a wizard to stop a wizard, right?”
Simon’s stomach squelched uncomfortably. On closer inspection,
Greenslade looked much worse than he’d originally thought. Exhausted; with pale
skin and bloodshot eyes. “What are you talking about?”
“Don’t deny it. We
both saw it. Hamm Foine is dead, and I know who did it. I’ve seen Sir Magnus
raise the dead before, I’ve seen it!” Greenslade kept glancing about, almost as
if he were worried about being spotted. “He’s going after the Queen, and I need
you to stop him.”
“You’ve not making sense.”
“Don’t play games with me, Atters. I know what you and your
partner are up to. But you’re too late. The Queen is already in play.”
Simon backed away. “You’re mad.”
Greenslade grabbed his arm. “You stole that little dog, Atters.
What kind of man steals another man’s dog, anyway? You’re wanted by the police
in Brussels for more than a dozen robberies.”
Simon couldn’t believe that Greenslade had the gall to do
something like this. “
You’ve come to
arrest me?
I just saved your life, man. I don’t know what game you’re
playing, but you’re mistaken. And if this is about Welsie, she’s made her
choice.”
“I know why you’re here, Atters. We both know it has nothing to do
with Welsie. You broke into Alderman Fitzhugh’s house, and you’re planning to
nick the Queen’s jewels, aren’t you?”
Simon e stared at the policeman in disbelief. The gloves were off
now, all right, but there was
no way
the Inspector could know what he was planning. He rubbed his mouth as he
considered Greenslade’s accusation.
“Listen to me, Atters. You’re a wizard, and that’s all I care
about. Someone has to help me stop Sir Magnus, and I’m not above blackmail, if
that’s what it takes. He’s after the Queen, and you’re the only one who can
stop him. You’re either in this with him or you’re going to help me stop him.
Make your choice.”
After his son left, Padraig poured himself another glassful of rye
and took a long swallow. The whiskey warmed him through after the chill he’d
taken from all that talk about magick. Roman’s visit had shocked him more than
a little.
He went to the cupboard and pulled his old tunic from where it had
hung for more than twenty years. Moths had frayed holes in the lining and
sleeves, but the Bow Street insignia, the patch Mary had sewn at the shoulder
for him was still of a piece.
He slipped it on, but it hung on him like a moldy sack, as if it
had belonged to another man. The shoulders were too big, the waist too narrow,
and the length seemed to have grown by inches; halfway to his knees!
Padraig grimaced. “I guess that’s two of us not what we was, eh,
Lizzie?”
The taxidermied terrier did not stir.
He sighed and took the bottle back to the tap room with him,
setting it on the bar. He picked up a clean shot glass from behind the bar and
filled it to the top with whiskey. The first was for conviction; the second for
the journey.
With trembling hands, he smoothed the front of his tunic. Roman’s
tale had upset him more than he cared to admit. War did terrible things to men.
Gave them nightmares. Made them imagine things—remember things that might
not have happened.
But he believed his son. And he believed Roman was indeed in
trouble.
Another wee dram in
memory of the old days, then.
And one more for his old horse, Duchess, who served him so well.
She’d been nearly thirty when he went out to the barn one morning
and she was gone. The heartache of finding her like that never left him. Bad
enough he missed the horse more than the wife.
But not the son.
Two years or more since they’d spoken.
Too long.
This time, he would not refuse him.
With one last swallow, he slammed the glass down. In the old days,
the Bow Street Regulars had been his companions. Bright-eyed and hard; nothing
like the auld sots who came around these days.
Whatever had happened to them?
The answer, which never changed, left a bitter taste in his mouth.
Peelers
. The Bow Street Regulars had
turned tail on their independence to join up with the worst of the worst, the
London Metropolitan Police, thus bringing a sad end to the best gang of thief
snatchers England had ever known.
He went to the till and pocketed a few coins for cab fare to the
palace. After a final glance around, he departed, locking the place up behind,
him. It took him several tries to get the key into the lock.
The crossing over the North Dock was just a short walk from the
Arms, but today it seemed to stretch interminably. When the bridge finally came
into view, it was just as Roman had described. Of all things. Those damned
Peelers at the bridge were checking people
tryin’
to leave
.
“Well well, if it ain’t the auld sot himself. Hello there Paddy.
Where you off to?” The constable loomed over him, his truncheon in his hand.
Padraig pulled himself up straight. Damned if he could remember
the fellow’s name. “Shut it, Peeler. It’s none of yours whair I go.”
“Since when do you leave the bar in the middle of the day?”
Wallace wrinkled up his face. “Judging from the smell, I’d say you’ve already
drunk half your inventory. We’ve got laws against drunks walking the streets.
Now, tell me your business or I’ll see you locked up for public intoxication.”
Padraig rubbed his face as the Peeler wavered in front of him.
Maybe he could have done without that last nip of whiskey. “I’m on police
business.” He smoothed his hand through his thinning hair. He started to say
something more, but could no longer remember the question. He squinted up at
officer. “That’s right. Queen’s business, ye wanker. Now stand down and stand
aside, or--.”
The constable grinned. “Or what?”
Without warning, Padraig felt himself gripped on either side by a
pair of burly uniformed officers. They lifted him off his feet as if he were
nothing more than a boy. “What’re ye doing?”
“We’ve got orders to hold Roman for questioning, but I think he’s
too smart to get caught. In the meantime, you’ll do.” Padraig found himself
shoved into the back of the police wagon; with the door bolted from the
outside. It was dim inside, with only a small barred window in the door and an
even smaller one forward, which offered a narrow view from beneath the driver’s
seat.
The constable slapped the wagon and Padraig had to brace himself,
as the horses moved forward and the wagon lurched. He scrambled onto the hard
wooden bench grateful that they had not bothered to cuff him. Where were they taking
him? The inside of the closed coach reeked of the rusty iron scent of old
blood, vomit and stale fear. He wrinkled his nose at the stench. A knackers
wagon smelled better. The enclosed space made him feel dizzy.
Better with his eyes closed.
He smacked his lips and wished he had a drink. He felt as if he’d
forgotten something. Ah yes, Roman wanted him to warn the Queen’s guard. He
shouted up to the driver. “Are we going to the palace then?”
“That’s right.” The driver gave a low, deep chuckle. “Got a stop
to make first, though.”
Welsie gasped as Simon, engulfed in green flames, leapt from the
airship. Down, down, he plummeted into the vat, the splash extinguishing the
flames. A moment later the crowd roared with approval as he appeared, grinning,
his fist raised in victory.
She jumped and shouted, adding her voice to the clamor and din. In
her whole life, she had never seen anything like it. Anything so
incredible!
She watched Simon climb out of the tank and take a bow. The crowd
erupted again, this time in applause and a great stamping of feet in the
bleachers. After accepting a robe from one of the crewmen, they began to walk
up the hill toward the hanger. Overhead, the
Il Colibri
unleashed a cloud of confetti and streamers, which
fluttered down as the ship departed. The show was over. She waved to him and
shouted, but he couldn’t see her, nor hear her over the crowd.
A hard hand grabbed at her wrist. “This way, Mrs. Foine.” John
Raikes, the knacker, pulled at her, leading her away from the hangar.
She twisted from his
grip. “Good heavens, John. Let go of me.”
“Sorry, mum. It’s Hamm—he’s sick. He’s at the chapel. Father
Martin sent me to fetch you. I’m afraid it’s urgent.”
“
Hamm
?” John took her by
her elbow and she allowed herself to be pulled away from the crowded hangars.
“He’s real sick. Askin’
for you.”
They were moving away from the hangars and the airfield now,
toward the old chapel, just outside the walls of the Millwall dock . “What’s
Hamm doing at the chapel?”
“We’ve got to ‘urry.”
She frowned, but let herself be led. As long as she’d known Hamm,
he’d never set foot inside a Christian house of worship. Like most of the islanders,
Hamm followed a much older set of beliefs.
They were almost there. But instead of leading her toward the
chapel doors, John led her around the back, where a carriage stood parked
behind the building. She recognized the knacker’s carriage immediately.
“What?
Wait, no!
” But it
was too late.
John Raikes had her hard by the arm, dragging her around the side
of the carriage, away from view of the airfield. He clapped a filthy wet rag
over her face and mouth.
The fumes caught in her throat and made her eyes water.
Chloroform!
In spite of her kicking and squirming, John heaved her toward the open
carriage door. She held her breath, terrified of passing out. The cloying,
medicinal taste of chloroform tasted bitter on her tongue. She knew if she took
a single breath, she would be done for. She couldn’t scream, and he was far too
strong to fight.
This can’t be happening! Why
is he doing this? What does he want?
He slammed her against the side of the carriage and the rag
slipped. She managed a quick breath of fresh air before he clamped the rag
across her nose and mouth again. He shoved her onto the floor of the carriage
and held her down, his hot breath panting in her ear.
Sooner or later she would have to take a breath, and then she’d be
at his mercy. He was bigger and stronger; all he had to do was wait her out.
Her lungs screamed for breath. She remembered the boning knife she’d slipped
into the pocket of her apron and reached for it.
It was still there!
His weight on top of her made it difficult to pull the blade from
her pocket. Black motes began to form at the edge of her vision. Desperate now,
she bucked her hips, trying to shift him to the side. There! Her arm was free!
She stabbed blindly, but his ribs deflected the blade.
He grunted, but didn’t seem to understand he’d been stabbed. Again
she tried, using the last of her strength to slide the thin blade between his
ribs, all the way to the hilt.
With a low moan, his arms went limp and he rolled away from her, and
the knife was pulled from her grip. She twisted the rag from his grasp and
threw it out the door of the carriage. She panted, gasping for air, even as the
scent of chloroform thinned.
His hands went for the knife in his side. She shoved the handle
upward, using all her strength, rolling the rest of his body off her. He did
not resist.
Coughing and retching, she struggled to her knees and stumbled out
of the carriage, falling into the mud outside. One of the horses stirred
restlessly, but they were well-hitched. Still panting, she pulled herself to
her feet.
Good heavens, I’ve killed
him!
But
no, he was still breathing. The knife was still in him, and he was lying in a
widening pool of blood. Dark brown splatters on the walls and floor of the
carriage told the tale of old blood, as well. The front of her white apron was
soaked in blood. She pulled at the ties frantically, then wadded the ruined
garment into a ball, and threw it inside the coach. She was crying now, unable
to stop herself.
Raikes growled, his hand fluttered toward the knife.
I’ve got to get out of here!
She turned toward the hangars and began to run.