The Friday Society (23 page)

Cora smiled. Michiko looked just as puzzled as ever. Possibly her smiling didn’t make sense to an outside eye, but it was good to know someone else saw things the way Cora herself did.

And there was another one, too, another person who saw the connections.

“Let’s go to Nellie’s.”

38

Plans

“
W
HERE ARE WE GOING?”
asked Hayao quietly, though he needn’t have lowered his voice. It wasn’t like Cora understood what he was saying.

“We aren’t going anywhere. I am going with Cora. You are returning to your master.”

“You are my master.”

Michiko stopped and so did Hayao.
“Then, as your master, I want you to go to the stall and get to work. You’re late enough as it is.”

“Okay.”
Hayao didn’t move.

“What?”

“Well, it’s just . . . we’re going the same way, it looks like . . .”

Michiko sighed and started walking again, faster now, in order to catch up with Cora, but also because monkey boy was starting to get on her nerves again.

It turned out he was right. Not only were they going the same way, they were going to the very same location. Cora was taking Michiko to the blonde’s flat, the one she’d woken up in that first fateful night. The one that just also happened to overlook the market stall where Hayao worked.

Michiko and Hayao parted before the arched entrance to the square. Hayao hadn’t shared with the old samurai that he was studying with Michiko, and quite frankly Michiko didn’t want to find out what the old man thought of her having the nerve to teach samurai. She already knew what she thought of it.

But as she entered the square, it was impossible to keep herself apart from Hayao. The stalls were being manned with all diligence, but very few people were there to buy anything. Michiko had never seen the market so empty before. In a way, it was far more eerie than passing the demolished St. Paul’s.

As she followed Cora to Nellie’s apartment, Michiko started to feel concerned. This wasn’t right, this working with other people. This wasn’t what she’d been taught. How could she focus on the task ahead with the weight of other problems, with other relationships in the back of her mind?

Yet, here she was, almost glad to have some help in pursuing what was turning out to be a most formidable foe. Were the Fog and the voice in the sky the same person? She thought they were. There were no coincidences in life. And it was not a coincidence that she had met the blonde and the brunette. Over and over again.

They ran into Nellie on the dark stairs leading up to her flat. That bird of hers was sitting on her shoulder looking concerned, and Nellie was overwhelmingly glad to see them both. Her lilting voice filled the empty hall with speech so fast that there was no way Michiko could follow it. Then Michiko noticed she was smiling in her direction. “Hi there, Michiko!” she said.

Michiko replied, “Hi.”

Soon she was following Nellie back up to where she’d come from and then the three of them were in her all-too-familiar room.

Time for more talking. They really liked to talk, those two . . .

* * *

I
T WASN’T MUCH
of a plan. There wasn’t much to go on. But they each agreed to handle a task and decided they’d meet back at Nellie’s when their respective responsibilities were complete.

And so it was that . . .

Cora would find out who had placed the order for the device.

Nellie would seek out Messrs. Staunch and Proper.

And Michiko would investigate where that thing that blew up St. Paul’s came from.

Thus, three girls made their very first plan together.

39

What Michiko Did . . .

M
ICHIKO STOOD AT
the edge of the Thames staring out across to the South Bank. Behind her, the wreckage from the landmark formerly known as St. Paul’s had turned into a heap of blackened embers.

The object that had destroyed the cathedral had come from underwater; that’s what Hayao had said at any rate. Had it really? She didn’t think he’d lie to her, but what if he’d simply been mistaken? Then again, if it had come from the sky, surely the pilots of the airships would have seen something.

She sat down to think. She closed her eyes and let her body relax. Her thoughts flowed out and away, and she let the world touch her. It was so quiet. So quiet for this city. She was surprised to realize that she’d grown so used to the noise that she could now be struck by its absence.

She heard a bird cry to its friend. A carriage somewhere passing down a cobblestone street several blocks away. She heard water lapping quietly against the bank of the river. And an echo as water passed beneath her, underground, the sound rising up to greet her through a sewer grate.

She opened her eyes.

What if the rocket hadn’t come from
under
the river? What if it had simply passed
through
it, but its origin was somewhere else?

It made sense. A lot more sense than a criminal trying to hide something in a highly trafficked and narrow river.

There was so much of this city she knew nothing about, especially what went on underneath it. It had a complex sewer system, she knew, and then, of course, there were the underground trains she avoided whenever she could. Underground could be a very reasonable place from which to launch a rocket.

Michiko stood and started to walk.

She had been to the reading room in the British Museum during her first week in England. Callum had taken her on a big sightseeing tour, showing her all the landmarks, at least from the outside.

“Everything you need to know is in there,” he’d said. Or he’d said something like that; Michiko had known even less English at the time than she did now. But he’d tried to communicate the idea to her. That was when he still pretended to care.

She got herself up onto the rooftops and traveled quickly across the city to the British Museum. She passed between the large vermilion banners with “Alexandria” written on them and found herself inside the large-domed reading room in what must have been record time, had anyone cared to calculate it.

She approached a young man in a tweed suit and tapped him on the shoulder.

“Map,” she said.

The young man crossed his arms and looked at her carefully. “What was that?”

“Map.”

He shook his head, and it was clear to Michiko that for some reason he was pretending not to understand.

“I’m sorry, your accent . . . say again?”

“Map,” repeated Michiko, getting angry now. Honestly, it was one word and a one-syllable word at that. This librarian man was clearly just playing with her, finding her funny or whatever in her non-European way.

“Oh, map!” he said, nodding in an exaggerated fashion. “A map of what?” he asked loudly and slowly.

“Under city.”

“Say that again?” he asked.

Oh, for crying out loud . . .

“Is something the matter here?” A short, older woman with shockingly white hair approached the man in the tweed suit.

“Uh, no. She’s just looking for a map,” he replied.

“Under city,” repeated Michiko.

“Well, let’s help her find it, then,” replied the woman, placing a friendly hand on Michiko’s shoulder and guiding her to the center of the room.

The reading room was the sort of uniquely Western space that made Michiko uncomfortable. Too tall, too wide, too round. The dome above her overwhelmed her, and she had to make an effort to keep her gaze planted straight ahead.

“Sorry for my colleague’s behavior. He didn’t want to be here today, after everything. If one landmark gets it, then maybe this one is next, is the worry. But, I say you carry on no matter what. You don’t hold yourself prisoner to some voice in the sky. That’s the British way.”

Michiko understood half of what the friendly woman said, but nodded as if it all made sense to her.

“Makes for a quiet afternoon, though.” The woman put on a pair of thin cotton gloves and pulled open a large wooden drawer. She carefully thumbed through some pages and finally pulled out a big square parchment page with two round wooden sticks attached on two ends. These she held on to as she carried the map to the table and Michiko sat in front of it.

“This half shows a map of all the sewers. And this half shows the underground train systems, including the ones no longer in use.”

Michiko nodded. She knew what “sewer” meant. And “underground” and “train” made sense to her as well. She examined the parchment closely. There were lines crisscrossing London, and she recognized many of the stops. Then she noticed a line that ran parallel to Tower Bridge. “What that?” she asked the woman, who put on a pair of tiny spectacles that had been hanging around her neck on a silver chain and leaned over the map.

“Ah, that would be Tower Subway. They tried a train there for a couple months, but shut it down and left it open for foot traffic. They closed it completely a couple of years ago.”

Michiko understood the gist of this. But she was still astounded by the proximity of the tunnel to the Tower of London. She had a thought. Scanning the map, she found the British Museum. Sure enough, there was another line at the spot, with a train station marked. And, of course, they had found the first dead body near the Embankment station . . .

It was all coming together. Her hunch was right. She just knew it.

“Need anything else?” asked the librarian.

Michiko nodded. “Paper. Ink.”

She had to copy it all. And quickly.

40

What Nellie Did . . .

B
ACK AGAIN, THOUGHT
Nellie staring at the Medical and Scientific Institute. She wasn’t entirely certain if she’d find Mr. Staunch and Mr. Proper on the premises, but she didn’t think they’d be grave-robbing in the middle of the day. If she ran such a business, she was certain she’d rob at night and try to sell her . . . wares . . . in the day. And considering the two men’s association with Dr. Mantis, she thought it likely they sold their wares . . .
here
.

Of course, there was the matter of the recently destroyed St. Paul’s and the fact that in the aftermath most people had shut themselves in their homes. Still. It was worth a shot.

“Have Mr. Staunch and Mr. Proper arrived yet?” she asked, smiling brightly at the woman behind the main desk.

“Who’s asking?” the woman replied, giving Nellie a look of deep suspicion from over the rims of her glasses. She looked exhausted, overworked. She was packing up a small suitcase, as if she was getting ready to head out soon. And not remotely interested in helping Nellie out.

“My name’s Nellie Harrison. I work with the Great Raheem. There was a bit of confusion about a recent delivery we made.”

The woman nodded. Nellie loved name-dropping the Great Raheem. Especially when it got her stuff.

“In the theater, downstairs,” the woman said, and pointed toward a staircase in the far corner of the large, empty, white foyer.

A theater? They had theaters in the Medical and Scientific Institute?

Nellie walked lightly down the steps into a narrow low-ceilinged hall that led in only one direction. She followed it until she came upon a set of ornamented oak doors that looked to have been trimmed slightly to fit the space. Because of their awkward shape, they weren’t nearly as intimidating to Nellie as they maybe had been intended to be. Besides, if there was any place where Nellie was comfortable, it was in a theater.

She opened the door.

What she saw wasn’t the kind of theater she’d been expecting.

She was standing in a large dark room structured like an ancient Greek amphitheater. Seats in shadow rose up before her on three sides. It was hard to see how high up they went, as they vanished into the darkness. Not that it mattered much. Nellie’s attention wasn’t remotely focused on audience capacity. Who cared how many rows of seats the theater contained when a dead body, its pale white torso sliced open and its purple innards exposed, was lying on a table on the “stage,” the round empty center of the room that was lit with a bright white spotlight. Two figures stood, one at the head of the body, the other at the foot. Both were completely oblivious to her presence.

“Quality,” said the familiar voice of the man at the head. “See, you ’appy now?”

Apparently she’d found Mr. Staunch, all right. And, at the feet, judging by the domed head reflecting the bright light, was Dr. Mantis.

Time to back up slowly toward the exit, then . . .

“Oi! Mr. Staunch,” came a voice from up in the dark audience.

Oh dear.

“Mr. Proper, I’m a bit busy at the moment.”

“I see that, Mr. Staunch, but there’s that girl again.”

“Girl?”

“Right. Standing by the door. The Magician’s girl.”

She had her hand on the doorknob just as Dr. Mantis and Mr. Staunch turned to look at her.

“Hi,” she said, instantly flashing her smile.

“The one with the pretty eyes,” said Dr. Mantis softly, almost to himself, but Nellie heard him.
Not the eyes thing again . . .

“What you doin’ ’ere?” asked Mr. Staunch, taking a step toward her. Nellie marveled that he could be wearing his round sunglasses in a dark theater and still manage to see, though, she supposed, the spot on the eviscerated body was as bright as daylight.

“Just checkin’ up on the delivery. Wanted to make sure all was . . .” She stopped talking. No one was falling for it.
She
wasn’t even falling for it. The two men moved toward her, and she thought that keeping her back to the door was starting to become just plain silly. She turned around and opened it a crack, but it slammed shut. Nellie looked up. A hand attached to a long pale arm hidden behind a dirty white lab coat was holding the door firmly in place.

She turned back around . . . only to find herself looking into Dr. Mantis’s beady eyes again. She had no glitter this time to aid in her escape.
Note to self: Never leave home without glitter.

Mr. Staunch stood just behind him, and Mr. Proper joined him at his side.

“You know ’er?” asked Mr. Staunch.

“We’ve met. She was asking about the Society of Heroes,” replied Dr. Mantis in that hushed voice of his. He seemed determined to defeat her in some kind of staring contest, and she was terrified at what “winning” might look like. Or . . . not look like . . .
Please don’t take my eyes, please.

“Was she, now? Now, why would you be askin’ about such a thing?” asked Mr. Staunch, leaning in. Up close, the smell of death on his person was far more pronounced.
Yes, that’s certainly what that smells like,
she concluded. There was something else, too. A strange sort of humming noise, faint, almost undetectable. But definitely present. And familiar.

“I have my reasons,” replied Nellie, distracted by the internal debate she was currently moderating. To knee in the groin or not to knee in the groin, that was the question. Would it be better to talk her way out of this or to get violent?

“Beautiful eyes,” said Dr. Mantis.

Knee in the groin it is.

Dr. Mantis dropped like a stone.

“What the hell do you think you’re doin’!” cried Mr. Staunch, his hands at her collarbone, pushing her hard against the door. He pressed his body close against hers so that her knee couldn’t go anywhere this time. The humming got louder as he did it, and she could feel his sweat dripping from his nose onto her chin. Dr. Mantis was doubled up in pain, but unfortunately, Messrs. Staunch and Proper weren’t. One knee, three groins . . .
Bad math there, Nellie.

“This one’s trouble,” said Mr. Proper quietly.

“Indeed,” said Dr. Mantis, recovering himself.

“Shall we deal with ’er?” asked Mr. Staunch.

“Deal with her, yes. But save the good bits.”

“She’s got an awful lot of good bits,” pointed out Mr. Proper.

“Save them all, damn it!” It was the first time Nellie had heard Dr. Mantis raise his voice. Clearly Messrs. Staunch and Proper found it a rare occurrence as well.

“Maybe it’d make more sense if you just showed us what you wanted. We could do it right ’ere, right now.”

“No. She has to leave as she came in: whole. Take her to the cemetery. I’ll come to you after dinner and show you which bits I want. Till then, keep her fresh.” Dr. Mantis made his way back to the table the corpse was resting on.

The two nodded sharply in unison.

“Look, I’m sorry I kneed you, that wasn’t nice. But I’m really harmless . . . not sure why we need to go through all this bother. Come on, now. I’ll tell you what. You let me go, and I’ll give you each a kiss.” The thought turned her stomach as soon as she said it, but a moment of gross kissing was better than a lifetime of dead.

“I’ll tell
you
what,” replied Mr. Proper. “No.”

Mr. Staunch peeled her off the door, and Mr. Proper grabbed her around the waist. Nellie kicked out her legs, but Mr. Staunch deftly grabbed them. She twisted and turned; she was in a hot panic. No thoughts seemed reasonable; everything was crazy instinct. Fight or flight. Or, in this case, both. Adrenaline surged through her, and she figured if she made enough of a fuss, there’d be a bit of a problem in their trying to get her out of the building without drawing attention. For that matter, she’d scream, too.

Like this.

“And the little girl saw the body on the table and let out a horrified scream. Then she fainted, dead to the world.” She watched Dr. Mantis loom over her, in his hand a damp white cloth. She twisted her head around, but he caught her at the back of her skull, gripping the cloth in one hand. “Dead to the world,” he repeated softly as he placed the wet white cloth over her nose and mouth.