Suzanne Robinson (25 page)

“You aren’t Luke’s friend at all,” Prim said. “You’re one of his band of thieves.”

“Me, work for Nightshade? Not bloody likely.” When Prim tried to object, Mrs. Apple held up a hand. “No time for introductions now, missy. You want my help or not?”

Prim quelled her outrage and her fear and tried to think like Nightshade. “Luke trusted you, didn’t he?”

Mrs. Apple’s eyes glinted as she gave a sharp nod.

“Help me save him,” Prim said in a choked whisper. “I—I must save him.”

On a rainy night in Whitechapel a cart drawn by an aged horse clattered slowly down Figgin Street past the Laughing Knacker. The sign over the tavern door was askew, and its paint was peeling to reveal cracked gray wood. Tattered curtains blocked out the light inside the place, but nothing could subdue the noise of a drunken brawl that spilled into the street.

The driver of the cart paid no attention to the fighters or to the women in muddy silk, huddled under a street lamp, who stamped their cold feet on broken pavement. He drove on, nearing Cheesewright’s Emporium, an abandoned shop with grimy windows. Its shutters and awnings had been clapped over cheap, crumbling brick.

Opposite the emporium flimsy wooden coffins were stacked in front of an undertaker’s, and farther
down the road men could be seen trying to unload sacks from a wagon without attracting attention. The cart passed Cheesewright’s Emporium, drawing close to the alley between the shop and the next building. The driver glanced down the alley with little curiosity. Cluttered with mounds of old newspapers and broken wooden boxes stacked in a precarious pile, it was dark except for the sliver of light escaping from the side door of the emporium.

The old horse trudged on under the gentle encouragement of the driver, and neither saw the bulky figure standing guard in the alley doorway. His hat dripping from the rain, the sentry blew on his fingers, opened the door a crack, and peeped inside. His survey revealed a windowless corridor into which lamplight from an open door cast a yellow swath. Shadows moved across the light. The watchman closed the door upon seeing the movement, and returned to his uncomfortable vigil.

The room down the dark corridor was littered with vegetable crates, old grain sacks, meat tins, and packing material. Debris had been shoved aside to make room for a cage. The enclosure had a wooden top and bottom and iron bars on the sides, and it had an occupant—Luke Hawthorne.

Although he was lying facedown with his eyes closed, Luke was awake and listening to the two other men in the room. He recognized Fleet’s nasal whine, and he had guessed the identity of the other man. It was one Percy Grassdale, who liked to be called Doctor Grassdale, although Percy was really only a chemist, and a corrupt one at that.

“No, no, no,” Fleet was saying. “I want him to die slow and hard, real hard. I thought about setting fire to the place, but he might be rescued, and if I hang him, his neck might break right off.”

“I don’t quarrel with it, sir, but these matters are quite delicate. They depend upon a man’s size and constitution and the type of poison and dosage.”

“So, what have you got?”

“Mercy me, mercy me. Let me think. There are so many, you see. There are chemicals such as boric acid or camphor. There’s quinine and antimony, or mercury, or phosphorus.”

“Those sound good.”

“But then, you might consider the plant poisons such as hemlock, lily of the valley, yew, or spurge. There is always foxglove, or the poisonous mushrooms such as amanitas, which is known as death’s cap.”

Luke heard a soft sound; Fleet was rubbing his hands together.

“Of course,” Doctor Grassdale said, “there are also the usual poisons. Laudanum and opium, or belladonna, which is from the deadly nightshade plant, and there is ether—”

“Stop! Nightshade?”

Luke risked peering at the two through his lashes. Fleet had drawn closer to the fat little chemist in the yellow checked waistcoat and shabby brown suit and gaiters.

“I like that. Nightshade. What is it like?”

“Mercy, my dear Fleet. Most unpleasant. Delirium, hallucinations, fever, convulsions.”

“Lots of pain.”

“Indeed, but it may take a while to work.”

“And he’d suffer?”

“Yes, but if you’re looking for something unpleasant, perhaps you should consider boric acid or death’s cap, to produce vomiting and flux. I need some notice, though. So that I have time to prepare the materials. When will you need it?”

“I won’t be through with him until a certain package arrives, and that won’t be until tomorrow night or the night after.”

The two continued their ghoulish conversation. Their voices faded from Luke’s notice as his head began to ache worse than before. The last thing he remembered was being hit from behind, then waking in pain only to be hit again and thrown into this cage. Fleet must have beat on him while he was unconscious, for his ribs were bruised, probably cracked. He had a cut on his temple—from the heel of a boot?—and there were several lumps on his head.

Fleet was going to draw Prim to this place by dangling him as bait. Then he was going to kill them both. Luke had known this almost from the beginning. And dear, brave little Primmy would try to rescue him. The thought of her coming within a league of bloody Mortimer Fleet made him want to vomit. He had to get away, but he couldn’t work on the problem until he was left alone.

Luke was listening to Grassdale expound on the misery of a death by ingestion of a fungus called ergot when Jowett burst into the room.

“She’s here.”

Luke stopped breathing.

“Who’s here?” Fleet demanded.

“The Dane girl, she’s here.”

“Bloody hell. Already?” Fleet turned to Grassdale. “Get out. I’ll send for you later.”

When the chemist was gone, Fleet said, “She’s at the Laughing Knacker?”

“Pranced in bold as you please. She’s sitting at a table right now.”

Fleet called out, “Reg, Fergus!”

Men appeared in the doorway and Fleet handed one a key. “Reg, watch Nightshade, and mind you don’t get too close to him. I’ll be in the Knacker.”

Never had Luke felt so helpless. He watched Fleet and Jowett leave. When he was certain that Fleet was out of hearing, he began to groan.

“Wot’s that?” Reg said. He was a big man with a head like a slab of cheese and the intelligence of cheddar.

“It’s ’im,” Fergus said, jerking his head in Luke’s direction. “He’s coming awake, then.”

Reg lumbered over to the cage and gawked at Luke, who was dragging himself to an upright position. “Coo! So this is Nightshade, is it? Don’t scare me none. Just another pretty boy.”

“Come away from there,” Fergus growled. “Fleet said we wasn’t to get near him.” He pulled a nearly empty whiskey bottle from his pocket. “You got a dram on you, Reg?”

Reg kicked the cage door. “Coo! Nightshade. Show us your tricks.”

Luke had managed to get to his knees. Under the
pretense of dizziness he squinted at the key to his cage in Reg’s meaty hand. Reg drifted nearer, and he was about to lunge for the key when his quarry turned away.

“What was that?” Reg pocketed the key.

“What?” Fergus asked as he sucked on the last drops of whiskey from his bottle.

“Stark is at the back door, ain’t he?” Reg asked.

“Right.”

A sudden crash made both men jump. A rock sailed through the room’s only window, spraying glass around the cage. With both men’s attention on the cause of the crash, only Luke saw a shadow dart into the room. The shadow raced to Fergus, who was bending to pick up the rock. He and Reg turned as the shadow raised a club.

“Hey!” Luke shouted, making both men turn to look at him.

The club struck with a whack, and Fergus dropped. Reg turned on the shadow. Luke shouted again, but Reg ignored him and lumbered toward the invader. Luke threw himself at the cage door and tried to tear the bars apart. The shadow retreated, passing the only lamp in the room.

“Prim, run!” Luke shouted.

Prim paid him no heed, but continued to retreat slowly, passing over the threshold and into the dark corridor. Reg barreled after her. As he rushed out the door, another club appeared out of the darkness and bashed him on the head. Reg turned and grabbed Badger. Struggling, the two fell back into the room.

Luke shouted at his ally, but Reg slammed the
lighter man to the floor and fastened his hands on Badger’s throat. Badger’s eyes popped wide open, and Luke tried to topple the cage onto Reg. The effort brought on a wave of vertigo. As he sank to his knees, Luke glimpsed Prim. She rushed at Reg, her club raised over her head. He heard a smacking sound. Gripping the bars of his cage, Luke smiled painfully as Reg fell on top of Badger.

“Primmy,” he said as she pulled Reg off Badger. “He has the key.”

“I’m coming.”

She plucked the key from Reg’s pocket and rushed to the cage, while Badger stood guard at the door. Luke blinked at her in disbelief as she stuck the key in the lock and opened the cage door. Prim stuck her head inside and grabbed his arm.

“What are you doing here?” he demanded. “You shouldn’t have come.”

“Are you all right? Dear heaven, your face is covered with blood.”

Luke scrambled out of the cage and stood up, too quickly, for he grew dizzy and had to clutch Prim to steady himself.

“Bloody hell.”

“Badger,” Prim cried, “Sir—Mr. Nightshade is bleeding!”

“How is it, Nightshade?” Badger called.

“Just a cut in the scalp,” Luke said, straightening and taking stock of his condition. “There’s a man at the side door.”

Prim shook her head. “Not any more. I distracted him, and Badger hit him.”

“Choke me dead, Miss Prim. You learned a lot in your adventures with the Kettle family, and I want an account. But we must be leaving these accommodations before my host returns.”

He led them out of the room and down the corridor to the side door. Opening it cautiously, he stepped over Stark’s prone body and motioned for Prim to follow It had stopped raining, but only recently, and the world was still dripping, the air thick with moisture. Luke went to the intersection of the alley with Figgin Street and glanced up and down the road. Prim tugged on his coat sleeve and pointed in the opposite direction.

“Prigg has a carriage in Leather Lane.”

Luke took her hand and set off down the alley at a trot, the safest pace his condition would allow. Badger went ahead, checking each turn and corner as they went. They crossed a street and walked a few yards before Luke stopped and turned to Prim.

“Oy! If you’re here, who is at the Laughing Knacker?”

Prim gazed back at him calmly. “Mrs. Apple.”

“Mrs. Apple!”

“You should have told me who she was,” Prim snapped. “To dress up in that gray-haired disguise and pretend to be an old lady, what kind of conduct is that? When were you going to tell me she was but a girl?”

Luke set off again, pulling Prim after him. “No time for this now.”

“She has a—a gang of ruffians!”

“I know.”

“You’re intimately acquainted with her.”

Luke noticed the accusing note in Prim’s voice, but he also heard shouts behind them. Turning, he saw Fleet and Jowett racing toward them.

“Come on,” he said to Prim, but she had already pulled her skirt up between her legs and stuffed the hem in her waistband.

Prim scurried around a corner and jumped on top of a barrel. Down the street Badger was galloping ahead. Luke followed Prim up the side of the building to the roof. As he stood up on a gutter, Fleet arrived below.

Luke ran up the roof slope, pulling Prim with him. They skittered down the other side and leaped across to the flat top of the next building. As they raced for the next one, he stopped to pick up a thick piece of wood, and stuck it in his pocket. Prim found half a brick and did the same.

Luke regretted his delay when Jowett appeared, hiking a leg over the side of the wall and landing within a few yards of them. Shoving Prim behind him, Luke faced the man as he drew a knife. He was still holding Prim’s hand behind his back when he suddenly felt the half brick thrust into it.

Jowett was coming at them slowly, the knife waving back and forth. Luke waited until he was within a yard. Then he hurled the brick. It hit the man’s knife hand and sent the weapon flying over the side of the building.

Jowett cursed and hurtled at him, hitting Luke in the stomach with his shoulder. Luke felt a jolt of pain in his ribs as he fell under the man. Twisting like a
salamander from beneath his attacker, he hit him in the jaw. The ruffian staggered backward, righted himself and landed a punch to Luke’s stomach. Luke doubled over, more from the renewed injury to his ribs than from the blow. He coughed and managed to dive away from the next blow, but he wasn’t fast enough to avoid a kick to his leg. Falling as his leg gave out, he saw his opponent pull another knife. Luke’s eyes widened in horror as he glimpsed Prim behind Jowett.

“Prim, no!”

Even as he spoke, Prim raised the half brick she’d retrieved and bashed Jowett on the side of his head. The man cried out and staggered, but he didn’t fall. The knife darted at Prim.