The 7th of London (11 page)

T
HE
trolley screeched to a halt outside of Charing Cross Station, and Sev could hear the din of trains within. Most of the trolley’s passengers disembarked. Sev joined them. He searched for his contact, Michaels, but had no idea what the man looked like or where he might be exactly. Sev wandered about the station, trying to remain inconspicuous as he searched for the man. There was no sign of Michaels, but Sev saw a number of young people filing toward a conspicuously ornate brougham. Each boy and girl carried a duffle similar to Sev’s, so he fell in at the end of the queue. A young boy joined him as he walked. He carried a duffle as well.

“Headed to the palace?” Sev asked.

“What do you think?” the boy answered.

“Have I offended ye somehow?”

“I’m Michaels.” The boy ignored Sev’s question. “I expected you to be a little sharper.”

“What? How was I—?” Sev sputtered.

“Shush,” Michaels answered. Sev did as he was told, more out of surprise than acquiescence. Their credentials were checked and a cursory search made of their persons and belongings before they were allowed to board the brougham. After the guards were satisfied the young people had no weapons or ulterior motives, the group filed onto the conveyance. As Sev climbed up the retractable step, a second carriage pulled up to take its brother’s place, and he wondered how many of the young Blacksiders would make it into the queen’s services.

T
HE
horses drew the brougham to a stop near the servants’ entrance of the palace, where the passengers disembarked. A stoic, well-dressed gentleman stood awaiting the applicants.

“I am Her Majesty’s head steward, Mr. Cartwright.” The steward waved the crowd of potential servants forward to inspect them and assess their attributes. Sev’s heart raced in anticipation of the severe man’s scrutiny. The candidates filed forward. Cartwright declined three of the six he’d inspected. Sweat broke from Sev’s pores as he observed the steward’s ritual, feeling like livestock as he shuffled toward Cartwright’s calculating gaze. The steward waved the boy preceding Sev away. Sev swallowed and stepped up to the queen’s steward. “What’s your name, boy?” Cartwright inquired.

“St-even,” Sev stammered, pronouncing the word like seven with a “t.”

“What’s that?”

“Steven,” Sev pronounced the word with confidence.

“Well, Stephen,” the steward sniffed. “What makes you think you’re qualified for this position?”

“I do my job. I don’t shy away from hard work, and I know my place,” Sev stated.

The Royal Steward raised an eyebrow in well-restrained surprise. “Well said, Mr. Stephen. You’ll do.” The older man waved Midnight’s agent into the palace. Sev scooped up his duffle and almost skipped into the building. Michaels caught up with Sev. “Ye’re doin’ just fine. Let’s find our room.” The smaller boy pushed past Sev, who fell into step behind.

T
HE
accommodations were cramped and uncomfortable, but the servants spent little time resting. Their days were spent working diligently, preparing the palace for a royal celebration. The fact that this was the first Christmas gala within the palace since Victoria was crowned made the preparations that much more difficult. Sev had never seen so much silver in his life, let alone been expected to polish each piece.

He’d been in the palace for three days and had been in a different room each day. As he rubbed at the silverware, Sev wondered where Michaels had gotten to. As if on cue, the other servant wandered into the room, pretending he was lost.

“All right?” Michaels asked in a whisper. Sev nodded, realizing the need for discretion. “We’ll talk soon. We’ve grounds duty together tomorrow.” Michaels tipped Sev a wink before drifting back to the hallway. A young girl with snow-blonde hair gathered into a bun cleaned her way nearer to Sev.

“You know Barty?” the girl whispered.

“Who?” Sev asked.

“Bartholomew,” she stated. Sev stared at her. “Michaels,” she added

“Oh.” Sev realized who she referred to. “We’re acquainted.” Sev made sure his statement remained vague.

“What’s he really like?” she asked.

“I don’t know him that well,” Sev admitted.

“Oh,” she acknowledged. “I see.”

“Have ye worked here long?” Sev asked as he continued polishing silver.

“Mm.” The girl nodded in confirmation. “You’re here for the Christmas ball.”

“I am,” Sev agreed.

“Fairgate,” the girl lamented. “The queen never stayed at the palace for the holidays before.”

“Ye seem displeased,” Sev observed. The girl shrugged in answer. “Fairgate has an odd influence over the queen, doesn’t he?” Sev pushed. The servant girl nodded, hesitantly. “Somethin’ wrong?” Sev asked. The girl looked nervously around, as if to confirm she wasn’t watched, and then she nodded. “Fairgate’s not right?” Sev asked.

“Not at all,” she answered. Her eyes fell to her task, and she continued to clean the china. Sev also focused on his task, polishing the royal silver. “He’s been known to take the belt or the stick to the servants,” she whispered.

“That’s awful but not surprisin’,” Sev mumbled.

“They’re the lucky ones,” the girl added. Sev paused in his silver polishing to regard the fair-skinned servant girl. Her eyes were wide, her expression troubled. “There’re some he does worse to.”

“Did he hurt you, um….” Sev paused, realizing he didn’t know the girl’s name.

“Mary,” she whispered.

“Stephen,” Sev lied, though he didn’t want to—not to this frail creature, and laid his hand on hers. Mary’s pale skin colored instantly.

“It could be worse,” Mary answered. Sev squeezed her hand. “Thanks for your kindness, Stephen, but we better finish our work.”

“Quiet, you two,” the older female servant hissed. “Cartwright’ll be around soon to check up.”

“Cora’s right, Stephen. We better stop talking nonsense.” Mary smiled weakly as she turned to retrieve a serving platter. Sev was beginning to think something more sinister was at work in this palace than even Midnight had suspected. He would have to keep an eye out for Fairgate. Sev wouldn’t fail in his mission for Midnight, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t take care of Fairgate once his book was secure.

S
EV
woke the next morning before the sun had breached the horizon as someone shook him. His eyes were blurry and swollen with sleep as he sat up in his bunk. “Rise and shine, mate.” Michaels’s familiar drawl sliced through Sev’s fuzzy senses.

“Wha’s goin’ on?” Sev slurred.

“We’re on greens detail,” Michaels explained and tossed a mound of fabric at Sev. Instinctively, Sev started to pull his clothes on, though it wasn’t easy.

“Greens?” Sev’s sleep-dry throat croaked.

“For Christmas decorations. Holly. Garland.”

“Ah,” Sev spoke as he finished dressing. “So we’re headin’ into some royal forest or another?”

“It’s not for us to know where we’re going. Only that we do our job once we’re there. It’s South Somethin’-shire or another. There’s a steam-trolley waiting for us by the stables.” Michaels leaned close to Sev’s ear. “We’ll slip away when we get the chance. I’ll let you know.” Sev wondered where Michaels got his energy at this hour of the day as the other young man dashed from the servants’ apartments. Sev shook his head slowly as he slipped into his shoes and shuffled wearily along with the rest of the newly hired boys.

S
EV
gazed out of the trolley window as the vehicle trundled along snowy lanes. He’d never been out of the city before, at least not since he’d been very young, and it seemed a different world entirely. The constant rushing of people to and fro, the clang of machinery—with the exception of their own vehicle—and the wails of hungry children were all gone. Even in Fairside one could hear traffic and commotion, though of a much more civilized sort. Out here it was whisper-quiet, the sound of the soft wind joined infrequently by the call of a bird or small animal.

The thing that struck Sev most was the white. The purity of the snow almost blinded him. The snow in the city was gray at its best, having already fallen through the layer of soot and smog that hung over Blackside. By the afternoon of a snowfall, the drifts would turn to sludgy puddles. So too in the west end of town, snow was only white before the morning traffic began its incessant march through the streets. The cab of the trolley was warm with the heat rolling off the engine at the front, and before he knew it, Sev had drifted off to sleep in his seat.

Too soon, he was roused by one of the other boys, and they filed out into the freezing December air. Sev squinted against the bright winter light and pulled his collar up about his neck. The footman in charge of the young men began searching through a trunk strapped to the rear of the trolley, handing out various tools and splitting the boys off into groups. Michaels drifted into Sev’s group as they moved away armed with saws and burlap sacks to collect the greens.

They were at it for over an hour before Michaels made his way to Sev’s side. An impromptu contest emerged among the boys to gather not only the most greens, but the most perfect as well. Sev clipped lush branches from an ample holly bush.

“I’ve got a line on getting you into Fairgate’s apartments,” Michaels whispered as he gathered the branches Sev dropped.

“Aye?”

“There’s a boy who tends Fairgate’s fire. All we have to do is get him out of the way and you’re in.”

“I assume y’got a plan?”

“You doubt me?” Michaels asked with mock offense. Both boys chuckled softly.

“Well, well, what ’ave we ’ere?” one of the larger, older boys asked. Sev thought his name was Pike. Another especially dull-looking bruiser named Swisher fell into step beside him. “What’s the joke, girls?” Swisher laughed at his friend’s lame attempt at humor.

“Piss off,” Michaels growled. Pike and Swisher exchanged looks of surprise before expressions of anger and malicious amusement replaced them.

“Ye deaf?” Sev asked and motioned the behemoths away.

“Ain’t they cute?” Pike slapped his companion.

Swisher nodded and licked his lips. “Especially the little one,” he said, grinning at Michaels.

“Ye’ll be handin’ over that bag.” Pike indicated the sack in Michaels’s hand.

“Not bloody likely,” Michaels answered.

“You fink so?” Pike flexed his ham-sized hands, the knuckles cracking ominously. “I fink it’s very bloody likely. What d’ye fink, Swish?”

“Heh. Yer.” Swisher pulled out a knife. At that, Sev and Michaels looked at one another. Sev’s eyes flicked to the knife, and Michaels nodded almost imperceptibly.

Pike opened his mouth, perhaps to demand the sack of holly. Sev would never know because Michaels drove a fierce uppercut into the bully’s chin. Pike’s teeth clattered resoundingly as Sev aimed a kick at the fist in which Swisher held the knife. The silver blade flew through the air. Swisher swung at Sev, who followed the momentum of his kick to avoid the attack. When Sev regained his feet, Swisher had spun round so they were face to face. The big lout raised his arms, telegraphing an attempt to grab Sev, who dropped to his back. Swisher’s arms swept through the air previously occupied by Sev, who used his leverage on the ground to drive his feet into the bigger man’s chest, knocking the wind from Swisher’s lungs and dropping him instantly. Sev turned in time to see Michaels deliver a terrific kick to Pike’s ribs.

“Lightweights,” Sev said, only slightly winded.

“Pff,” Michaels noised dismissively as he retrieved his own sack as well as Pike’s and Swisher’s. Sev and his accomplice left their larger companions unconscious in the snow and rejoined the group.

T
HE
servant boys returned with a splendid collection of evergreen decorations and were rewarded with hot chocolate and an especially fancy meal. With the exception of the still-damp and slightly injured Pike and Swisher, the boys laughed and ate while the girls wove the greens into garlands. The preparations for the ball had reached the final stages, with Christmas Eve only days away. Those days seemed to pass too quickly for Sev with no new developments in his mission. Michaels was conspicuously absent most of the time, and when Sev had managed to corner him, the young man remained tight-lipped.

Mary took a shine to Sev and somehow managed to mirror his duties. They were engaged in tying velvet ribbons around candlesticks and discussing the array of candies and treats delivered earlier in the day for the celebration when Michaels slipped into the room.

“Hello, Barty.” Mary blushed in his presence.

“Mary,” Michaels said, inclining his head to the girl while casting an exasperated glance at Sev. “I got something I need you to do.”

“Anything for you, Barty.” She beamed.

“You know that boy who tends Fairgate’s fire? Wilson?” Michaels pulled out a small vial. “I need you to get this stuff into something he’s eating.”

“What is it?” Mary whispered.

“Just some ipecac, nothing dangerous. We just need him to not be able to tend the fire the night of the ball.”

Mary looked apprehensively at the vial. “It won’t hurt him, will it?” Michaels shook his head. He looked doubtful of Mary’s assistance, but Sev had no doubt she’d do just as Michaels wished. “All right, Barty,” she finally agreed.

“Good girl,” Michaels said as he patted her shoulder, causing her face to go nearly as red as the ribbons. Then he turned to Sev. “You just have to offer to take over his duties for the evening.”

“Sounds simple enough,” Sev stated.

“Let’s hope. We’re counting on you, Mary.”

“I won’t let you down, Barty.” She blushed as Michaels flashed her a smile, then he disappeared once more. “What are you two up to?” Mary leveled a calculating gaze at Sev.

“Nothin’ you need t’worry about, luv,” Sev said dismissively. “No grand scheme, just slippin’ an early Christmas surprise into the lord’s chambers.”

“Playing Father Christmas?” Mary asked with obvious suspicion.