These Vicious Masks: A Swoon Novel (30 page)

“Yes, but records are eternal,” Mr. Kent shot back. “I have discovered the mysterious and vaguely named company that owns that home and a list of their many other properties.
I’ve eliminated the properties that don’t serve Dr. Beck’s needs, and I am certain he will be found in one of the ones that remain.”

“What about his ability to see the future?” I asked. “How can we ever overcome that?”

“For that, I have a simple solution,” Mr. Kent proudly announced, rubbing his palms in anticipation. “Consider that first house. Dr. Beck went through all the trouble to hire
Camille to impersonate Miss Rosamund, but Mr. Braddock simply paid her to learn the address. Dr. Beck should have expected her deception and never hired her in the first place, or the house should
have been vacated by the time you arrived.” Mr. Kent paused, smiled, and tapped his head with his finger, indicating where his brain was.

“Judging by those mistakes, I must conclude that he’s short-sighted. He can only see the future to a certain extent or specific elements of it. So he did not know of Camille’s
nature or your arrival at the apartment until it was too late to alter his plans. If this is true, then we have to move swiftly and seize every opportunity we can. There is no way to ever know the
limitations of his power—unless, of course, we ask him. And if I were him, I would maintain this illusion of . . . omniscience . . . simply for the discouraging effect it produces upon those
who believe it.

“The problem is, the two times you encountered him did not go well because you were trying to follow him, which put you at a natural disadvantage. He could escape with his head start or
turn around and ambush you, depending on his mood. Due to the combination of his power and planning, he’s always been better prepared, but now we can best him with this list of his possible
locations. Instead of chasing him, which he’ll anticipate, we will anticipate his anticipations and, in a way, have him come to us.”

He stopped his pacing and held out his palms, as if he had performed a magic trick with flair. Our gasps filled the room. “Impressive, I know,” Mr. Kent said, smiling.

“It is . . . if you anticipated
him
,” I said, pointing behind him at the pale, thin man who had appeared through a crack in the air.

But judging by Mr. Kent’s startled reaction, he hadn’t. Mr. Hale’s arrival most definitely wasn’t a part of his grand plan.

M
R
. H
ALE
HELD
up his hand cautiously and spoke in a soft, hoarse voice:
“Please, I’ve come because I need your help.”

He looked earnest—and in fact rather desperate. His rumpled clothing barely fit him, his graying hair sat in disarray, and he seemed to lean his thin, gaunt frame entirely too much on his
cane. In this light, there was nothing threatening about him.

That only disconcerted me more. “You want
our
help? After what you did?” I asked, convinced that the world had turned inside out.

His eyes widened when he saw me, and he stepped closer. “Miss Wyndham—you are all right—”

Sebastian slid between us, cutting the man off. “Do not come any closer, or I will,” he interrupted, anger pitching his voice low and gravelly.

The wooden floorboards creaked uncomfortably as Mr. Hale stopped by the stairs. “Of course,” he said. “I am just . . . glad to see she is well after I heard—”

“What your friends did?” Miss Grey spoke up, only wavering a little. “What do you want?”

“I want to help save Miss Rosamund,” the man answered.

Silence greeted his appalling statement.

“This is a trick,” I gasped, almost ready to laugh.

“A terrible one at that,” Mr. Kent added. “But there must be a reason Dr. Beck is doing this. Perhaps he anticipated our anticipation of his anticipation . . .”

“This is no trick, I promise you,” Mr. Hale pleaded. “If I was your enemy, I could have opened doors under your feet and dropped you all into the ocean without stepping in
here.”

“How reassuring,” Mr. Kent said.

“You could have also saved Rose without stepping in here,” I returned. “But you’ve persisted in helping Dr. Beck.”

Mr. Hale’s eyes went wide at the accusation. “I only learned of his terrible plans for Miss Rosamund yesterday. And when I tried to free her, Dr. Beck was already there, waiting for
me. I couldn’t fight him. He was too fast with his knife.” He clutched his stomach in pain. “He would have killed me had Miss Rosamund not distracted him. I barely escaped to a
hospital.”

“What happened to Rose?” I asked.

“They were all gone by this morning. They must have taken her elsewhere. He has laboratories all over the city.”

“And you cannot open a door directly to them now?” Sebastian asked.

He shifted and winced again. “No. I can only create doors to places I’ve seen.”

“I can’t recall ever inviting you in here for tea,” Mr. Kent said.

Mr. Hale reached into his coat and revealed a small telescope.“In which case, I rely on this tool.”

“How clever,” muttered Mr. Kent. “But this has still been a waste of time. We already have a list of locations.”

Mr. Hale shook his head urgently. “If you follow that, it’ll be too late by the time you find them. I know how we may find him before he starts her . . . surgery.” We all fell
silent. Even the city streets outside seemed to hush at those words.

“How?” Mr. Kent finally asked for us.

Mr. Hale’s hand tightened around the wooden banister. “He requires a sedative for the procedure. It is a unique substance— one more controllable than any other and without side
effects. And it is made with a newly discovered chemical from Germany called barbital. His servant purchases directly from the merchant, and this afternoon, he will be at the Royal Docks. A man
named Mr. Greene who owns a ship called the
Aurora
.”

Sebastian shook his head doubtfully. “Dr. Beck will not send someone there now. He knows you escaped.”

“You could be right,” Mr. Hale admitted, staring at a narrow panel of stained glass above the entryway. “But he does not know that I know of this chemical. And there is no one
else in the city he can purchase it from. The next shipment won’t come for weeks.”

“Will we truly be able to find the location this way?” Mr. Kent asked, smoothly testing Mr. Hale.

“Yes, I am sure of it,” he replied truthfully.

This seemed to be all Mr. Kent needed. “Then I think it’s best we go to the docks now. Dr. Beck, in a way, will be coming to us— just as I suggested.”

“No. We aren’t doing that yet,” I replied, feeling uneasy. “I don’t trust him. Miss Grey has seen this man do horrible things, but now he suddenly has a crisis of
conscience?”

I caught Sebastian’s eye, but he quickly looked away, jaw clenched. Pushing the heels of my hands into my eyes, I considered my choices. Trusting Mr. Hale could well be the best decision
we make, or the worst. I had to be sure.

“Miss Grey, do you know anything else to give us reason to trust him?” I asked.

She shook her head. She seemed to still have trouble even looking at the man.

It must be borne, then. “Mr. Kent, Miss Grey has recently informed me that you have an ability to obtain the truth. Is that true?”

Sebastian, Robert, and Mr. Hale looked at him in utter astonishment, while Mr. Kent, without breaking his gaze, nodded slowly to me. “It is.”

“Then I have questions I want you to ask him.”

“As you wish.”

I turned from the door back to the stairs. “Mr. Hale, have you conspired with Dr. Beck or Claude to lead us into a trap at the docks or another location?”

“No, I have—”

Mr. Kent interrupted. “You must wait for me to ask the question.”

Mr. Hale nodded and bit his lip nervously.

“Have you conspired with Dr. Beck or Claude to lead us into a trap at the docks or another location?” Mr. Kent asked.

“No, I have not,” he said, his eyes widening at his own openness.

“Is it truly your aim to see that Rose is rescued, safely and unharmed?”

Mr. Kent repeated the question.

“Yes,” Mr. Hale said.

“Do you have any ulterior motives for that, Mr. Hale?” I asked, and Mr. Kent repeated after me.

“Yes,” Mr. Hale said immediately. A look of shock came over him when he realized his admission. His guilty eyes locked on mine, and he blanched. “It’s nothing like
that!”

“What is it, then?” Mr. Kent and I spoke together.

“I—I love Miss Rosamund,” he choked out. “I want to protect her.”

“What!” Robert exclaimed, eyes wild. “I knew what this was all about. You don’t think you’re going to win her over like this, do you, sir?”

“It’s not like that, young man! She’s like a, a daughter—”

“Robert,” Mr. Kent cut in. “As amusing as it would be for you to duel a world-jumping man for Miss Rosamund’s hand, now is not the time.” He turned back to me.
“Do you have more to ask?”

“I do,” I said, still uneasy. “But it can wait.”

Mr. Kent nodded and opened his front door, ushering us all out. “To the Royal Docks then, Mr. Hale.”

Mr. Hale shook his head fervently as he limped toward the doorway. His nervous behavior somehow grew worse. “No, I cannot come with you any farther.”

The lot of us stopped and looked at him in surprise.

“I—I’m s-sorry,” he stammered softly. “I want Miss Rosamund saved. That’s why I came here to help you. But I won’t be caught by them.”

“You’re scared of Dr. Beck?” Mr. Kent asked. “Even when there’s six of us?”

“No—no, not Dr. Beck,” Mr. Hale replied.

“Then who?” Mr. Kent asked.

“The Society. Of Aberrations. They assigned me to watch over Dr. Beck. When they learn of this . . . you don’t know what they are capable of.”

“I think I have some idea,” I replied, a shudder running through my bones at the thought of more scientists.

“No. You don’t,” Mr. Hale said, deathly serious. “Pray they never learn of your powers.”

Before we got in another word, a door crackled open behind him, and he vanished into thin air. Desperate, I dashed outside after him down the stone pathway, past the squealing gates, and along
the narrow sidewalk, scanning the bustling London crowds, the countless windows, the rooftops. He was nowhere to be seen. Given his terror, he was probably halfway across the world by now.

I spun around to find everyone waiting by the gate, hopelessly searching for the briefest sign of the man.

“Terrible manners. He didn’t even offer us a ride,” Mr. Kent said, looking as crestfallen as the rest of us. But in a moment, he managed to cheer himself up as usual. He
fetched a passing hackney and opened the door.

“Well, when one door closes, another slightly more inconvenient, out-of-the-way one opens. Let’s be off, shall we?”

E
VEN FOR A
Londoner thoroughly acquainted with the crowds of the city, the hubbub of the Royal Docks is nothing short of
overwhelming. Chaos finds its form in burly sailors in all sorts of sunbaked hues wandering about; porters wheeling tall stacks, sacks, and crates to warehouses; customs officers and clerks
analyzing the goods in front of them, noses deep in their books; small groups of passengers skeptically eyeing the ships for an upcoming voyage; weathered hands maneuvering chained sets of boxes
from the ship to the quay; and, of course, the backdrop of ironclad hulls, towering spars, complicated rigging, and puffs of smoke from inbound ships.

After passing through the front gates, we threaded our way through the mess, attempting to fathom the disorganized layout. It seemed impossible to find one ship stationed among one hundred in
all this madness, but somehow Mr. Kent managed without even inquiring for directions. He wove through the maze with purpose, and the rest of us struggled to keep pace, putting our trust in him. My
only sense of our progress came from the waves of odors that consistently alternated between carcasses, spices, tobacco, and brine.

After some minutes, the trust proved to be well placed. We found ourselves looking up at the three tall masts of the fully rigged
Aurora
, fittingly reaching for the sun. Mr. Kent turned
to us, his countenance showing some reservations. “Miss Wyndham, Miss Grey, perhaps it would be best for you to wait down here, and we will return shortly,” he said.