The Custodian of Marvels (15 page)

Lara stretched out an arm and yawned.

“What time it is?” she whispered.

“The clocks have chimed for half past six,” I said.

She smiled sleepily, making a dimple in her cheek. “It’s good to have you back, Lizzy. As one of us, I mean. Didn’t sit right having you on the outside.”

“What do you know of Fabulo’s plan?” I asked.

She closed her eyes again and sighed. “Near as much nothing. You know what dwarfs are like. But whatever he’s got up his sleeve, I’ll bet it’s you who’ll know before the rest of us.”

The rookery of St John’s once provided manpower for the rope makers of Cable Street. But, with the coming of flight, this industry gave way to the fabrication of the skins of airships. On streets where hemp had once been twisted, animal guts were now cleaned and stretched – they being the only material to hold in the gases that kept the leviathans airborne.

Perhaps the wind had changed, but the stench of the slaughterhouses and tanneries seemed stronger that morning than before. I felt my eyes stinging as I followed Fabulo through the rookery. Here and there were wrecked doors, remnants of the night’s excitement. I could make out no pattern to the destruction. It was as if the soldiers had chosen their targets without thought or plan.

The people milling in the roadway were less hostile than on the previous day.

“I’ve spoken to someone,” explained Fabulo, running his thumb over the fingers of his upturned hand, suggesting that money had been involved. “We’ll have no more trouble from these folk.”

“And the men-at-arms?”

“It was just a raid. It happens. A toff gets his purse lifted. The papers make a big story of it. Doors are going to get kicked in. Then there’ll be nothing for half a year. We were unlucky. That’s all.”

As we turned onto the main thoroughfare, I said, “My father used to tell me there’s no such thing as bad luck, only bad skill.”

“In cards, maybe,” said Fabulo. “But this was just one of them things that happen. Don’t worry about what you can’t control.”

“Then what do you worry about?”

“Everything else,” he said. “We’re going to do this thing. But that don’t make it easy. You just have to pick at it one worry at a time.”

“I could help if only you’d tell me the details of the plan.”

“I will do,” he said.

“Then why not now?”

Instead of answering, he pointed to a crossroads ahead. There stood a pub with a hanging signboard showing a crown and a dolphin. “There’s one more of our crew you’ve yet to meet. He’s a stranger, so there’ll be no surprises for you.”

“He can be trusted?”

“More or less. He’s our locksmith.”

“More or less?” I said, somewhat alarmed.

“More,” said Fabulo.

“Well, there are other locksmiths if you’re not sure.”

“He’s one of a kind. It was Harry who found him. Or one of Harry’s spies. That was the very beginning of the plan. He can’t be replaced any more than you can.”

I stopped dead. Fabulo carried on a couple of paces before turning to face me.

“Harry Timpson made this plan?”

“You see?” he said. “You always want to know more. Whatever I tell you, it’s never enough. Yes, Harry Timpson made the plan. And that’s why it’s going to work.”

“And Harry wanted me to be part of it?”

“If I answer that, will you promise to ask no more?”

“No!”

“Then you may as well go back and wait with the others. I’m not having it.”

He turned on his heel and marched off. When he was halfway to the pub, curiosity got the better of my pride and I set off after him, catching up just in time to hold the door open. The familiar pub smells of beer, tobacco and hashish wafted out at us.

The dwarf glared up at me. “Yes, you were part of Harry’s plan,” he said. “And that’s why you’re here!” Then he stomped through and I followed him inside, where I found myself walking on a layer of freshly strewn sawdust.

There were few patrons at that time in the morning, but I saw no glances of particular interest. The barman was busy polishing a glass case on the rear wall. As we stepped closer, I saw that it contained what appeared to be a human skull. I was trying to read the inscription, but the barman had nodded Fabulo through to the back and I had to hurry to keep up. After a short corridor and a flight of creaky stairs we came to a dim landing.

“The locksmith is going to be viewing you,” Fabulo whispered. “That’s the way it’s got to seem. Not the other way around. So play it sweet. If we get to the end of this and he’s happy, it’ll have been a good day’s work. One more worry scratched off the list.”

“What do you mean,
play it sweet
?”

“I guess there’re people might say you’re pretty. So flutter your eyes at him. And no mention of last night’s fun and games. He’s a jumpy one.”

The dwarf was off again before I could protest. He opened the third door along.

“Jeremiah,” he said, smiling. “My good friend! Have we kept you waiting? Wine – I should call for more wine.”

“No more wine,” came a voice from within. “Are you alone?”

“No indeed,” said Fabulo, beckoning me through.

I stepped into what appeared to be a private dining room.

“Jeremiah, this is Elizabeth. Elizabeth, Jeremiah – the finest locksmith you’ll ever meet.”

He was a large man, his features flattened and indistinct. He frowned on seeing me, but extended a hand, which I took. My own was engulfed, feeling as if it had been plunged into a bowl of warm dough.

His cufflinks and cravat were pale blue to match his eyes – which were the only clearly defined feature in his clean shaven face. His shirt had oil stains on one cuff and had not recently been near an iron, though I judged it must have once been an expensive garment.

“Elizabeth is one of us,” said Fabulo.

Jeremiah released my hand and turned to the dwarf. “You said we’d be a small crew.”

“And so we are.”

“Yet here’s one more.”

“She’ll be the last.”

“But why have her?”

“Elizabeth has special skills.”

Jeremiah made a
harrumph
sound, as if to say that the special skills of young women could only be worthy of reproach. “What’ve you told her about me?” he asked.

“I’ve been told little enough!” I snapped, irritated at being talked about as if I wasn’t present.

“Good,” he said.

“I vouch for her,” said Fabulo, glaring at me again.

We all sat. I found myself looking at Jeremiah’s hands, which were folded on the table in front of him. It seemed impossible that they could manipulate something as fine as a lockpick.

“Tell her the story,” said Fabulo.

“You’ve vouched for her,” said Jeremiah. “But a man can make mistakes. That’s all I’m saying. And with more people in the circle… it gets dangerous. All it takes is one too many glasses of wine and someone blabbering. Then it gets in the wrong ear and we’re all riding a horse sired by an acorn.”

“What does he mean?” I asked.

“He means the gallows,” said Fabulo. “But that’s not going to happen. With this one, you have to trust me.” He folded his arms across his barrel chest. “Now tell her the story!”

The skin of Jeremiah’s forehead rippled into a frown of concern. “So be it. But if she goes talking to one of those Patent Office bastards – then you’ll be the one to deal with it, Mr Dwarf. You’ll cut her throat and drop her in the river. Agreed?”

All the while he said this, he had been holding my gaze. I stared right back at him. My knife was in my boot. I could feel it pressed snug against my ankle.

“Agreed,” said Fabulo.

Jeremiah nodded and subsided back into his chair. His frown melted into the dough of his face.

“Very well,” he said. “I’ll tell it again. But know what it costs me. I’m breaking every vow I made to the Guild of Locksmiths. Once this business is done, once we’ve gone our ways, most like I’ll never be able to work again.”

He took a moment to rub the side of his face with the flat of his hand. His eyes were downcast. I wanted to ask why he would choose to do anything if the cost were so great. I glanced at Fabulo, who made a shaking of his head so slight it seemed like the movement of a watch spring. I clamped my mouth tightly closed and waited.

“Have you been inside the Patent Court?” he asked. “Such a work, it is. How much it cost to build is beyond the counting of men like me. They had money back then. If the Gas-Lit Empire had a government, it would be the Patent Office and if they had a palace it would be that court – what with them being lawyers. They made it so big that a king would feel small if he went there. That’s what it’s for.

“But it’s made of stone and mortar and iron just like any other building. Even the mighty Patent Court bows down before King Time. They put it here in London so as to cow the Royalists. But London won’t be cowed. Every winter the smog gets deeper into it. Have you seen what smog does to iron? A hundred years of smog would rot the whole city to the ground – if the people didn’t keep fixing the metalwork and mortar.

“So every ten years the guild is bound to send in trusted craftsmen to inspect. And repair if it be needed.”

“Is bound?”

I had voiced my question without thinking and became aware that I was sitting forwards, my shoulders over the edge of the table. Fabulo glowered at me for interrupting the flow of the story, but Jeremiah seemed hardly to notice.

“Bound is right,” he said. “Though I’ve never seen it written. It gets told to you…” He sighed as if saying the words caused him pain. “There are ceremonies. You don’t need to know of them. These are secrets of the locksmiths’ guild. They’re like examinations. If you pass them, you move on up. If you fail, then that’s the level you’ve reached. With each step, you’re told more secrets.

“When the ten years last came round, I was at a rank high enough, so it was my turn to do it. That’s how I came to be inside and see the Patent Court storerooms. Leastways, I didn’t see into the rooms. But I walked the corridors and I cared for the locks and the keys.”

“How can you inspect a lock without opening the door?” I asked.

“I did open the doors. But they’d hung drapes behind, so I couldn’t look beyond. But I can tell you this – there’s ventilation. For I could feel the draught flowing out of each room. And when I used my hammer to re-seat the lock, I heard the echo come back from inside. These are no small rooms. They’re great halls, I’d say. Big enough to have voices of their own.”

He closed his eyes and slumped even lower in the chair, as if exhausted from the effort of betraying his oaths.

“None of that will help us,” I said. “Even if you had all the keys to the building. There are guards standing outside it – the elite soldiers of the Gas-Lit Empire. Don’t you think they’ll notice when you stroll up and start unlocking doors right in front of them?”

“You’re thinking the wrong way around,” said Fabulo. “It’s not the front doors we need to worry about. Tell her the rest, Jeremiah.”

The locksmith opened his eyes. “The little man’s right. The storerooms are there in the building. But you couldn’t get to them through the front door. They’re all underneath. It’s a labyrinth of passages and tunnels down there. The entrance we need to get through is away at the back. Near the Inns of Court.”

“There you have it,” said Fabulo, now focused on me. “We have the knowledge. We can get in.”

“Then why do we need her?” the locksmith asked.

A silence followed, during which the question grew heavier in my mind. Fabulo looked from the locksmith to me and back. Then he drew in breath and said, “Before I tell you that, I have to ask if you’re with us? Are you going to do this thing?”

Jeremiah put his sausage-like fingers onto the edge of the table and heaved himself onto his feet. “I’ve said I’ll do it!”

“And you, Elizabeth?”

“I agreed already,” I snapped.

“So you say. But I’ve had complaints and questions all morning from both of you. And I don’t need the trouble! I do not need it! So I’m going to ask you to say it once more. In front of each other this time. You can back out now, or we can go forward together.

“Jeremiah – are you in or out?”

“In,” he said.

“Elizabeth – look me in the eye and tell me.”

I stood up, pushing my chair back. It screeched on the floorboards. The dwarf tensed. He dropped one arm below the table. He had no gun with him, but I imagined he’d positioned his hand on the hilt of his knife. I looked down at him. My intention had been to meet his eye and say my words of agreement just as he’d asked. But, as I was about to speak, I realised that I hadn’t decided. Not really. A plan to break into the International Patent Court had seemed beyond sanity when he first asked me, so I had rejected him. Then, when I’d been beyond sanity myself, it had been easy to agree. But now… now I was not the same person.

“Well?” he asked.

“This is real, isn’t it?”

“It’s real if we make it real.”

There had been few choices for me in the shaping of my life. I didn’t choose to be born into a travelling show, nor to be alluring to a corrupt aristocrat. Exile had been my only road. All my volition had been expressed in such tiny gaps as fate had allowed. But this time I did have a choice. The hairs on the back of my neck prickled.

“I want to do this,” I said.

Fabulo exhaled. Jeremiah whistled. I hadn’t noticed that they’d both been leaning forwards. I felt lightheaded.

“This calls for a drink!” Fabulo said. The locksmith nodded and lumbered off down to the bar.

“What would you have done if I’d said no?” I asked.

“It didn’t happen.”

I began to laugh, though nothing funny had been said. It started as a giggle but then Fabulo was laughing also and I couldn’t stop myself. There were tears running down my cheeks and his by the time Jeremiah returned with a bottle and three glasses.

“Tell me the joke,” he said.

It was a rich Armenian wine. We all stood around the table making toasts and drinking. Fabulo stood on his chair. At first I drank too quickly, enjoying the fruity flavours filling my mouth.

“Here’s to success,” said Fabulo, draining his glass.