Wicked as They Come (44 page)

I was caught.

The animals of Sang had it in for me.

Joff screeched, “Gerren! Gerren! I see the locket. I’ve got her! Rudy got her!”

I did my best to break free from Rudy’s vicious hold, trying to rip my skirt and run. Joff’s eyes followed the movement of Rudy’s head, and he saw what I was trying to do. He whipped out his billy club and swung it, and I ducked my face and threw up an arm.

But it wasn’t enough. The solid wood club thwacked off the side of my head, and I crumpled to the ground in an invisible heap. The last thing I saw as I went unconscious was Rudy’s drool-covered teeth.

He seemed to be laughing.

It was a bad wake-up.
My head was pounding, pain radiating from a tender spot just above my left ear. I blinked, and dull light stabbed my brain. I tried to lift a hand to my head, but my arm was pinned to my side. I looked down,
and there was my body again, lumpy and stained in wet orange taffeta. It was a relief, being visible again, even if I looked awful. I was on a narrow bed, and leather straps held me at armpit, waist, thigh, and calf. My soggy gray stockings showed through a rip in my skirt, which was extra-wet with Rudy’s tooth marks.

I looked around the room, but I was alone. It was a guest room, a place where a maiden aunt would expect to stay for a long visit. Rocking chair, dresser, mirror, a ewer and basin like the one in my wagon, embroidered throw pillows, doilies sprouting everywhere like unwanted mushrooms. Several horrible oil paintings of flowers hung on the wall, along with a portrait of a much younger Jonah Goodwill. In it, he was about forty and looked hopeful and bright, with just the beginnings of his trademark mustache. He almost looked likable. A gold chain hung around his neck, an engagement ring resting over his heart.

I heard voices in the hallway and closed my eyes as the door swung open.

“Don’t pretend to be asleep, dullard,” Tabitha said. “You’re not a good actress.”

She flounced into the room wearing my locket—probably the real one this time. Behind her was Jonah Goodwill himself.

He walked over to me with the same kindly smile and stroked my head, saying, “You’ve given us quite the chase, Miss Paisley. And then you got yourself a head wound and stubbornly refused to wake up for quite some time. I do hope you won’t cause me further problems.”

“Where’s Criminy?” I growled.

“He’s right here, of course,” Mr. Goodwill said. Something about his friendly, understanding manner repulsed
me, like that of a preacher with very bad intentions. Which was kind of what he was.

Two Coppers dragged Criminy into the room, his arms bound behind him. The Rafael Fester illusion was gone, and Criminy’s own face was pale and drawn. His eyes met mine, and they were frantic and scared and defiant and loving, all at once. He wasn’t wearing his coat of magical pockets, and there were patches of blood on his rumpled shirt. I ached for the comfort of touching him and strained against my bonds.

“Letitia,” he rasped. “Whatever he wants, don’t do it.”

“That’s enough out of you,” Goodwill said lightly. He pulled a white handkerchief out of his waistcoat and stuffed it into Criminy’s mouth. Criminy gagged.

“Now, let’s have a little talk, shall we?” the old man said. “Mr. Stain, won’t you join us?”

He gestured to the rocking chair, and the Coppers tossed Criminy into it and tied a rope around his chest. He struggled weakly, as if there was something wrong with him that I couldn’t see.

“Miss Scowl, I’ll need that locket now,” Mr. Goodwill said, and she reluctantly pulled the chain over her head and dropped it into the old man’s glove. He reached to the table beside me and tossed the fake locket to her. She caught it with a smirk and wiped it off on her sleeve.

“A ruby’s a ruby, and fair is fair,” she said with a curtsy. “And don’t forget that her body’s mine, after.”

“I would never forget our arrangement, Miss Scowl.” He chuckled. “Now, go outside and play. You, too, boys. We have business.”

Tabitha swished out of the room with a jolly “Tata, lover!” and a blown kiss to Criminy. The Coppers
followed her, one looking disgusted and the other intrigued by her back view. The door closed, and any evidence of goodwill left the face of Mr. Goodwill. “Now that we’re all cozy, I’m gonna drop that Sangish tone and speak in a language you understand,” he said with a deep Southern drawl. “I know your secret, missy. And now you know mine.”

“You don’t know anything,” I said, keeping my voice level and snotty.

“I know that you’re from America, and I know that you love that bloodsucking bastard over there,” he said. “Tabitha told me what she smelled in the submarine. If you want him alive, you’re going to do exactly what I say.”

Criminy tried to talk around the cloth. All I heard was whimpering.

“Here’s what’s gonna happen,” he growled. “That locket won’t work for me. I can’t get back home. Your pet vamp’s magic must be tuned just to you. So here’s what you’re gonna do. You’re gonna put on that locket and go to sleep. And you’re gonna go back to wherever you came from. And you’re gonna bring me back something I’ve been looking for for a long time.”

He leaned close to my face, and his old-man breath washed over me as spit flicked past his gray mustache and onto my cheeks.

“You’re gonna bring me back a disease.”

34

I snorted.

“You know that’s crazy, right?” I said. “You seriously think I’m just going to go infect myself with a disease and slap on the locket and come back here? Do you think I’m an idiot?”

“I think you love this monster,” he said with disgust. “And I think you think you’re a good person. I got no such illusions about who I am, little lady. That locket was my last chance. I can’t get out of here, and I’ve tried every kind of religion, white magic, and dark magic. You don’t do as I say, and I’ll torture and drain him. Then I’ll go back to that filthy caravan and torture and kill all those people, too.”

I could see the lunatic lurking behind his eyes, the one he hid from most of the world, along with that country drawl. Criminy looked horrified. And murderous.

I just stared at the old man, my jaw dropping. “Why?” was all I could muster.

“Because I want more than a handful of dead folks. Because if I’m stuck here, I want the Bludmen gone. I’m on a mission, girly. I can’t build Manchester into a wealthy, God-fearing city with these blasphemous monsters running
around, infecting everyone. If I can rid Sang of the vampires, I’ll be king of everything, forever. A hundred years from now, little kids will sit in church and look at stained-glass pictures of Jonah Goodwill.”

“That’s sick,” I said.

“You’re the sick one,” he said. “Cavorting with bloodsuckers and freaks. My daddy was a preacher, and he would have had some choice words for a harlot like you. God sent me to this godforsaken place for a reason, and you’re going to help me, or I’ll destroy everything you care about.”

There were some definite flaws in his reasoning, which was one of the benefits of dealing with a crazy person. I mean, if he was going to kill all of the Bludmen, that included Criminy, too, right? So where was my motivation? And how did he even know if a disease could exist here or affect Bludmen at all? But I wasn’t about to argue with him about his diabolical plan. I wanted the locket, and I wanted Criminy alive.

“If I do what you want, what do I get in return?” I asked. My eyes flicked to Criminy, hoping that he could trust me. After our run-in with the witch, he probably didn’t.

“Your Bludman lives, and you can run off with your heathen caravan and do whatever the hell you want. And you can keep your locket, too.”

“That’s not going to do me a lot of good if I’ve got a disease,” I said carefully.

“I don’t care if you get it yourself. Bring me a Styrofoam cup of blood or a chopped-off drug addict’s finger. Just bring me something that’ll spread through blood and kill ’em all. This world’s got no diseases. The flu would probably destroy half the population. But it’s worth the risk.”

There were at least three illogical statements in there, but I let it go and played along.

“I won’t let you hurt him,” I said. “I’ll do it.”

Across the room, Criminy closed his eyes and shook his head.

Jonah Goodwill smiled, his bright white teeth showing his good American brushing habits.

“Then let’s shake on it and get you all fixed up before bedtime, sugar.”

He reached down to grasp my hand where it lay, bloodless and still at my side. I did my best to smile and wiggle my fingers enthusiastically.

We had a deal.

True to his word, the
old man had me fixed up. My bonds were released, and a bevy of scared Pinky servant girls helped me undress and wash in a copper tub of hot, perfumed water. Despite my reeling mind, it felt wonderful to be warm and dry and clean again. They fixed my hair and dressed me in an overly modest, blousy gray gown that resembled a sailor suit. It was hideous and bland compared with the shimmering things I’d grown accustomed to, and I wouldn’t have been caught dead in it, given the choice. The floppy boater hat with long ribbons added insult to injury.

Next, they ushered me into the dining room, where I was forced to sit at the foot of the table and sip soup across from Magistrate Goodwill. I didn’t have much of an appetite, although I’d barely eaten in days. The dead, bloodthirsty stares of the stags and antelopes and moose on the wall seemed to accuse me of treachery with every spoonful.

I was thankful that the old man chose not to converse.
From time to time, he spoke kindly to the servants or complimented the food with his cultured Sangish accent. I minded my manners and kept my mouth shut, hoping to appear stupid, or at least dull and uncreative. I had to wonder if Criminy and I were the only people to hear his real accent since his early days in Sang, before he learned to conceal it.

As the servants bustled around and removed my dainty dish of uneaten cherry pie, I fidgeted and looked down, saying, “Master Goodwill, may I please see Criminy?”

“Oh, no, my dear,” he intoned. “I do believe that’s a terrible idea. That vicious killer is a very bad influence on you. And he might even try to hurt you. I could never allow that to happen.”

The maid clearing Mr. Goodwill’s dishes wiped a tear from her eye and gazed at him with adoration. I tried not to barf.

“However, I will allow you to sit quietly in the garden for an hour or so before bedtime. The fresh air will be quite invigorating. I do believe a good night’s sleep can cure any ill, don’t you?”

“Yes, sir,” I mumbled, feeling the eyes of the servants judging me. No allies there.

After dinner, a silent and surly Copper escorted me out the French doors into a beautiful garden. Everything but his sharp nose and scowling mouth was hidden by goggles and leather, but I could tell that my guard disapproved of such vibrant frivolity. Or maybe he just disapproved of a bludhoney like me.

Irises and lilies and roses danced against the dull gray sky, and I leaned down to inhale their perfume. I walked the brick paths toward the orchard trees, apples and tangerines
and plums planted in neat rows within the high stone walls of the old monastery. Very few people in Manchester knew what wealth lurked in Mr. Goodwill’s little Eden, I was willing to bet. He didn’t seem like the sort who enjoyed sharing with his inferiors.

A swaybacked cow dozed placidly across the yard, and she lowed at me as I approached. I expected her to hiss and bare teeth, but then I saw her messy pile of hay and remembered what Joff and Gerren had said about a bludless cow. I patted her bony brown flank and said, “Good luck, Bossy.”

Under my Copper’s watchful goggles, I settled on a wooden bench among the roses and pulled up my knees to watch the spectacular sunset. Clouds so low and thick that I could almost touch them were painted inch by inch with the bright red and orange of the heavy sun. I imagined the sullen city below us, the labyrinthine streets unfolding in their dirty glory beyond the high walls of the garden.

It was an ugly place but not without small beauties, not without things I would miss.

I swiveled my gaze back to the house, the bricks painted stark white like that of a plantation house from my own country. He’d turned the refectory into his own little Tara. The sunset writhed over the bricks, casting orange shadows like fire on the peaceful scene. Cheerful lamps shone from every window, and I tried to imagine Criminy behind one of them, tied to the rocking chair. Hungry, hurt, confused. Not knowing what choice I would make once the locket was in my hands. Stay with him? Kill his people? Disappear forever? And I had to wonder—did he have any faith in me at all?