The Diamond Thief (13 page)

“But none of those contraptions were working,” said Thaddeus. “Even the cylinder I was in – the fire worked, but inside, it was dead. If what you say is true, wouldn’t he be using the power by now?”

“Perhaps he has not perfected the method yet,” suggested Desai. “If that is the case, then we still have time to stop him.”

Thaddeus shook his head. “But stop him doing what?”

Desai got to his feet, and they all followed suit. “I believe that Abernathy is planning to attack London itself,” he said, gravely.

“What?” Thaddeus asked, shocked. “Why would he do that? To what end?”

Desai shook his head. “To what end does man ever want power? To dominate, to assert his authority. Who can know for sure? But you have seen what was in that room. Did they seem like peaceful inventions, to you?”

They never got to hear Thaddeus’ answer. The air was split by the sudden sound of shouting. The warehouse door was flung open and Rémy turned to see one of Desai’s men rush in, flailing his arms and shouting in a language she did not recognise.

“We are found!” Desai shouted. “Quickly, we must flee!”

From outside, there came more shouting and the sound of heavy boots running closer. Desai lunged towards another door, set in the wall opposite the one they had entered, but before he could reach it, it burst open, the rotten wood splintering on its hinges as men forced their way in.

Rémy turned back to the other door but realized it was too late – more men had entered, pushing Desai’s turbaned servants before them. They were all trapped.

She looked up at the broken windows high above, at the curtains hanging from the ceiling. Could she make it up them and through the shattered glass? Should she try? A hand brushed hers, and Rémy lowered her gaze to see Thaddeus watching her.

“If you can make it, go,” he whispered.

She found her fingers curling around his, briefly. The sensible thing to do was escape. She knew where the diamond was now, and she knew how to get into Abernathy’s tunnels. She could go back. Perhaps she could find it, take it back to Gustave and leave this miserable city for good. Why would she hesitate? Why would she want to?

Rémy pulled away from Thaddeus’ touch, swallowing hard. Whatever this pulse in her heart was, whatever it meant, she didn’t want it. She was Little Bird, and she flew alone. She didn’t need anyone else. She didn’t want anyone else. It was feeling like this – torn, tearful – that got you caught. And Rémy Brunel was never caught. At least, not for long.

She turned away from Thaddeus, blinking away tears, and leapt. Rémy caught hold of the heavy curtain and pulled herself up it as if she weighed nothing. She reached the top as shouts from below echoed after her, but she didn’t pause to look down. There was a metal pole – an old pipe – that ran along the ceiling, stopping short of the broken window. Rémy gambled that it would take her weight and threw herself towards it, catching it easily.

She was almost at the end when she heard the shot. It was from a pistol – she recognised the tinny double crack as the firing pin hit the bullet and then recoiled. Pain lanced through her – it was only a glancing blow to the arm, but it was enough. Rémy lost her grip and then her only luck was in knowing how to fall. The trick was to relax – to turn your bones to jelly instead of tensing up. That way you were at least less likely to break all of them at once.

She heard Thaddeus’ voice, crying her name as she hit the floor. Rémy lay still, unable to move for the pain, winded and who knew what else. She blinked up at her captors, trying to focus. This time she really was in trouble.

Fifteen

Captives

“Rémy!”

Thaddeus watched as she fell, his ears still ringing with the sound of the gunshot. She hit the ground with a sickening thud, and his eyes blurred. Thaddeus jerked towards her, but before he could take more than a few steps his way was blocked by a large, stocky man with an angry, scarred face.

“Where do you think you’re going, boy?”

Thaddeus looked around. There were more men everywhere, blocking the exits, roughly hustling Desai, his men and the Professor into a huddle at the centre of the warehouse. One had caught J by the scruff of the neck and he was struggling, arms and legs flailing helplessly.

Thaddeus looked away, only really thinking of Rémy. She was still lying where she’d fallen, and she wasn’t moving. Thaddeus tried to push forwards again. “Let me see her! You – you shot her! Let me see –” he cried as the man continued to block his path.

The man turned to look over his shoulder, restraining Thaddeus with his hands. As they watched, Rémy began to move. Thaddeus could see her blinking, and relief washed through him. She was alive! She was alive, at least.

“Please,” Thaddeus pleaded. “Please – let me see if she’s all right.”

The man snorted. “Rats like that are always all right. Shame – the streets could do with a clean. Too many dirty foreign whelps on them, if you ask me.”

Thaddeus had never felt rage before. He’d always prided himself on being calm, on being the reliable one in a crisis, on solving conflict with reason. But now he was angry, and the fury flooded his veins like the hot burst of a lightning bolt. Before he even knew what he was doing he’d drawn back his arm and thrown a hard punch that caught his captor unawares, just below his ale-fat stomach. The brute was only winded, but it was enough to fold him in half with a dull groan.

Thaddeus dodged him and ran to Rémy. She was still lying on her back, blinking up at the ceiling. Blood was seeping from beneath her. He knelt down beside her and put one hand to her forehead. She was whispering under her breath, words in French that he wouldn’t have understood even if he could have fully made them out.

“Rémy?” he asked. “Can you hear me?”

“
Pardonnez-moi avant
…
avant… de venir me juger…
”

“Rémy? What did you say? I can’t… I can’t understand you.”

“
Vous ne mépriserez… point un coeur… contrite…
”

Thaddeus heard a bellow behind him that meant his opponent had recovered his voice. He ignored it, moving instead to tear open the arm of her jacket. Beneath it, Rémy’s skin was covered in blood, but there was some good news – the bullet wound was only superficial. It had hit her, but it had been a glancing blow.

Rémy coughed and then drew a shuddering breath. “Thaddeus?”

He scrambled back to her side. “Rémy? Are you all right?”

She blinked at him. “
Non.
”

Thaddeus looked her over again. “Tell me where you hurt.”

She muttered something in French that may have been an insult, and then said, “Everywhere. I just fell from the ceiling.”

“I know, but – no – don’t move, not yet!” He put out a hand to stop her as she began to struggle up, a grimace of pain on her face.

“You think I don’t know how to fall, little policeman?”

Thaddeus opened his mouth, and then shut it again. Then he said, “But you’re usually on a wire. Aren’t you?”

Rémy gave him a look that could have stripped the hide from a carthorse, but before she could say anything else Thaddeus felt himself lifted from the floor until only his toes were dragging in the dirt. The strong hands that grasped him belonged to the man he had punched, and he did not look happy.

“You little –”

“Jonesy!” snarled another voice from behind them. Thaddeus could see a thug approaching, his face as dark as thunder.

The man holding Thaddeus turned with a scowl. “What now, Bates?”

“Knock it off,” Bates ordered shortly. “Let’s get them down to Abernathy before he starts wondering why we’re taking so long, eh?”

Jonesy hesitated for a moment. Then he shook Thaddeus once, hard, and let him go. Thaddeus fell back to the floor and Jonesy lunged forward, pushing his menacing face right into Thaddeus’ own.

“I’ll be watching you, boy,” he said. “You and your little foreign wench.”

Thaddeus swallowed his anger and turned back to Rémy, who had torn off more fabric from her trouser leg and was using it to wrap around her wound. He dropped to one knee beside her.

“Are you all right?” she asked, wincing as Thaddeus tied a knot in the makeshift bandage.

“I think I should be asking you that.”

“I can look after myself.”

“I’ve noticed.”

Rémy smiled at him, and then stopped abruptly, turning her face away.

“Right, you lot,” barked Bates. “Let’s get moving, shall we? Lord Abernathy wants to know why you dropped by his place without so much as stopping for a cuppa.”

* * *

Rémy let Thaddeus help her up, but only because she had to. The fall had hurt her more than she was willing to let on and she was fairly sure she’d cracked a rib or two. Still, she’d been lucky. Rémy knew it could have been much worse – probably should have been, in fact. She touched the opal at her throat. It was a talisman against harm, Desai had said. Maybe it really was. But then, if he’d been right about that... it meant he was right about the curse, too...

Rémy almost fell as one of Abernathy’s men jabbed her in the back, urging them to move faster. Thaddeus caught her, his arm slipping around her easily. She realized she liked the feel of it there, and then stamped on the thought, squashing the life out of it before it had time to take root. He was a policeman; she was a thief. They wanted the same jewel but for vastly different reasons. She just had to remember what she was there for, that was all.

Abernathy’s men took them back into the tunnels, but not via the crypt this time. Outside, it had begun to rain again. The day was giving way to a grimy evening, darkness falling amid a pall of gritty smog. The men herded them like cattle, several ahead and several behind. People who passed turned their heads away and scuttled faster, anxious not to be drawn into trouble. The downcast group was forced to walk back down to the canal path, but instead of heading to Limehouse, they stopped beneath one of the bridges.

At first Rémy thought that the men intended to drown them in the oily water – that the talk of Abernathy had merely been a ruse. She half-turned to Thaddeus, intending to tell him to run. But instead of death they were offered darkness. The leader opened a narrow wooden door, hidden in the side of the bridge. There was a steep flight of steps that led down into the blackness. The Professor was pushed in first, followed by Desai. Rémy watched as J was then shoved forwards. She saw him darting small, furtive looks this way and that, which told her he was planning something. She tensed instinctively, waiting for what was to come and willing him to succeed.

A split second later, J made a break for freedom. He ducked out of his captor’s grasp and made a run for the grassy bank that led up to the road above. Abernathy’s men were too fast, even for J. One of them shouted a warning, and two of them dashed after him. One grabbed at his arm and missed, but the other got a grip on his ankle and wrenched him back. J yelled as he flew through the air, crashing on to the hard pebble track of the canal path and curling up like a beetle.

“He’s just a boy!” Rémy shouted, cursing at them. “A child! Leave him alone!”

The men ignored her, scooping J up and planting him, tearful, back on his feet before pushing him roughly through the dark doorway and down the stairs.

“You two,” said Jonesy, “get yourselves down them steps or I’ll throw you down ‘em. Understand?”

Rémy glanced at Thaddeus before moving forward. At the top of the steps, she looked down. They spiralled steeply into darkness, though there was a light flickering somewhere below. She reached out to grasp the thin wooden handrail, flinching slightly. Her arm was stiff, the muscles around the gunshot wound clenched with the pain, and the rest of her felt as if she’d been crunched through a mangle at least once. Before she could begin the descent, she felt Thaddeus’ hand on her shoulder.

“I don’t want you to fall again,” he said. “Let me carry you.”

“Pfft,” she replied. “When I am in my coffin, then you can carry me.”

“Don’t say things like that.”

Rémy started down the steps with him close behind. “Why do you care?” she asked. “You know what I am. A thief. So why do you care?”

Thaddeus said nothing and she glanced back up at him. His face was cloaked in shadow, but his mismatched eyes caught the meagre light from below. He was not looking at her, and she noticed he was frowning. He looked deep in thought and she wondered why, and then decided that she didn’t want to know.

Rémy turned away and moved more quickly, ignoring the tearing pain that bit into her arm. They reached the bottom and found themselves back in the narrow, close-formed tunnels from which they had not so long ago escaped. Their captors hustled them along until the tunnel they were in opened out into a wider room. Alcoves had been carved into the dank walls, closed off by heavy, metal bars spaced several inches apart. They were clearly cells.

The men divided the group in two and pushed them into opposite cells – Desai’s men in one, and the rest of them in the other. All except J.

“Not you,” growled the man called Jonesy, as J went to follow Thaddeus and Rémy into the cell. “We’ve got other plans for you.”

Rémy watched as J looked up at the big man, fearfully. “What ya’ goin’ to do to me, mister?”

Jonesy grinned – a cruel, cold expression that darkened his eyes. Bending down until his face was level with the boy’s, he said, “You’re going to do the first honest day’s work of your life, son.”

J flinched, and Rémy thought he was going to make another run for it but Jonesy was way ahead of him. He nipped J’s ear between his fat fingers, pinching until the boy yelped in pain, and still the thug did not let go, the grin on his face widening.

Rémy threw herself at the bars. “
Lâche!
” She shouted, enraged, “Ugly, useless coward, to bully a child! You–”

Jonesy lunged at the bars and, without letting go of J, reached through to wrap his thick hand around her slim throat. She choked, struggling to breathe, but Jonesy only gripped harder. He shook her like a dog shakes a rat caught in its jaws. She heard Desai and Thaddeus shouting, but the sound seemed to be coming from a very long way away. Darkness flickered at the edges of her vision and then, beyond its jagged edges, she saw a light brighter than she’d ever seen before. Rémy thought she sensed Death riding upon it, coming for her, and she realized that actually, she wasn’t as scared as she might have been. Life hadn’t proven so easy, after all. Death couldn’t be much harder, could it?

She felt herself falling.