The Eyeball Collector (9 page)

Whether or not there had been divine intervention that evening, at least one miracle had occurred: Lottie was a changed woman. She immediately gave up the Juniper Water and threw herself into her new role as mother to the waifs and strays of Urbs Umida. Ned, still numb of leg when he moved in also, had not given up gin but, out of respect for Lottie, he pretended he had and had it smuggled in by numerous friends who came to visit him in his new home. What Lottie don’t know don’t cause ’er no ’arm, he thought, and from then on the Fitches coexisted quite happily, Ned at the top of the house and Lottie, in the main, downstairs.

Having renounced her vice, Lottie spent much of her day on the streets proclaiming loudly the evils of drink and handing out her leaflets. And it was on these same streets that she came across Polly. Down on her luck and in despair, Polly was about to try a cup of the beguiling liquid from a gin pipe. Lottie intervened just in time and enlisted her to help out in the kitchen at the Home.

When Lottie found out that Polly had known Ludlow in Pagus Parvus she was astounded, worried and pleased at the same time, which was quite a challenge to her shrivelled brain – astounded at the coincidence, worried that Ludlow might have told Polly how badly she and Ned had treated their son (he hadn’t) and ultimately pleased that he was alive and well. The good Lord, in one of her many daily visions, told Lottie that one day they would be reunited. Until then, she was content to carry on as before.

And so it had been for nearly six years.

Lottie’s thoughts turned back to Hector. He was proving a useful addition to Fitch’s Home, she reflected; willing, reliable and entertaining. He was different from the other boys, there was no denying that – he was a northsider after all. But despite the differences Hector had settled in quickly enough. He might not be much good with his fists but he had proved there were more ways than one to skin a cat. And Lottie had not failed to notice how Polly had taken the boy under her wing.

Lottie came out of her reverie and went upstairs to take her cloak from a peg in the hall. Her pockets were full of corks (for plugging up the gin pipes) and her bag was stuffed with leaflets. She liked to stand on the Bridge and ask for money to support her boys. To this end she always took a couple of the younger ones along, the two with particularly morose expressions. She had asked Hector once – Lord knows he looked miserable enough sometimes – but he had refused.

‘Too soft, ’e is,’ she sighed. ‘Took ’is pa’s death very hard. But a good boy nonetheless.’

As Lottie came down the steps to the street she saw a figure standing across the road. She thought he might be smiling at her but it was hard to tell with all the people passing by. He had a bag over his shoulder and wore a hat of unusual design. She was certain he was the same fellow who had been there the day before and the day before that. She blinked and he was gone.

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Honoured Guests at Wine Emporium Opening
By
Tarquin Faulkner

Lady Lysandra Mandible (pictured above), dressed in an assortment of white fur, looked simply exquisite when she made a guest appearance at the opening of the third branch of Faulkner’s Wine Emporium.

Lady Mandible was accompanied by Baron Bovrik de Vandolin (also pictured). It has not taken this exotic and enigmatic Baron long to endear himself to Urbs Umidian high society. Since arriving in the City some weeks ago this charming man (a member of the Eastern European branch of the noble de Vandolin family) has proved a highly popular and much sought after dinner, dance and party guest. He has an enviable reputation as a most entertaining fellow of great wit and imagination, and he is also a hero. Who has not heard the tragic story of the loss of his left eye in a duel over a slighted woman? But Baron Bovrik de Vandolin is not the sort of fellow to allow such an optical inconvenience to hold him back.

As for Lady Mandible herself, she hardly needs an introduction. Without doubt the most beautiful and talented lady to ever have graced the corridors of Withypitts Hall, the Mandible family seat, she has a reputation not only for style and taste but also for her extravagant nature, and we northsiders love her for it! It is believed that no expense was spared in her recent renovation of Withypitts Hall. No doubt all will be revealed at the Mandible Annual Midwinter Feast.

Since the tragic death of his father last year, young Lord Mandible is rarely in the City, preferring to stay within the confines of Withypitts, some six hours’ ride away. He has never been particularly fond of dancing or parties on account of his withered leg and no doubt he is pleased that Baron Bovrik accompanies Lady Mandible to all society functions in the City.

Despite the fact that many young ladies of the City are purported to be under the Baron’s spell, he is immune to their charms and dedicated to the task set before him. Of course, it is common knowledge that he has been charged with helping to organize the Mandible Midwinter Feast. We northsider Urbs Umidians look forward to it with great anticipation. Always a marvellous occasion, one feels this year that Lady Mandible will make it her own.

Hector put the crumpled page down on the floor beside his mattress and leaned over to trace with his finger for the hundredth time Baron Bovrik de Vandolin’s profile. Then he settled back with a frown.

‘What a master of deception you are, Truepin,’ he murmured, rolling his ebony cocoon between his fingers. For, if this sketch was accurate, there was little doubt in Hector’s mind that Gulliver Truepin and Bovrik de Vandolin were one and the same.

‘And if you aren’t,’ he said out loud, ‘at the very least I owe it to Father to find out.’

Hector pressed himself tightly to the wall and cautiously peered around the corner at the gleaming black carriage that had just drawn up in the street. Despite his outward appearance of calm, his heart was thumping wildly behind his ribs. He watched as the driver jumped down and opened the door. The passenger, a man, was holding a brass-tipped and handled cane which tapped smartly on the pavement. Hector noticed how the toes of his shoes, sporting large gold buckles, gleamed. Suddenly the wind took the man’s cloak and whipped it open to reveal beneath an unusual palette: yellow ochre breeches with darker satin ties and a waistcoat of peridot green. He stood for a moment, admiring his reflection in the window, then pulled at the patch over his left eye and tweaked his waxed moustache before walking into the building.

The driver’s back was turned so Hector slipped along the pavement and crept up to the door. He sniffed, his senses alerted. Could he smell citrus? His lip curled when he read the names on the glass before him: Badlesmire and Leavelund, Solicitors and Auctioneers.

A combination of luck and intuition had brought him here. The
Diurnal Journal
tracked Lady Mandible’s – and therefore the Baron’s – every move. Thanks also to the journal Hector knew where they stayed when in the City: Lady Mandible’s town house. Hector had kept a close watch on the house all day. As evening fell his patience was rewarded. The front door opened and a man emerged. He set off at a quick pace towards the river. Hector was quite certain this man was Bovrik de Vandolin, but the real question was, could he also be Gulliver Truepin? From this distance and in this light he just couldn’t be sure. He followed cautiously all the way to the Bridge at which point Bovrik hailed a carriage. Hector heard him say, ‘Roebemlynde Street,’ and off he went.

Although Hector was on foot he had no trouble keeping up. It was market day, and the streets were crammed with cattle and pigs and street sellers; besides, he knew the narrow short cuts where the carriage couldn’t go, so he was already waiting in Roebemlynde Street when the carriage arrived.

Despite the fact that they were sited south of the river, Badlesmire and Leavelund’s client list had more than its fair share of well-off northsiders. Their sign might read ‘solicitors and auctioneers’, but everyone knew they had their greedy fingers in many pies. It was the place to go if you had a problem, legal or otherwise, and you didn’t want your neighbours to know what you were up to. They were happy too to act as middlemen in the buying and selling of goods they might serendipitously encounter in the course of their business.