To Kingdom Come (20 page)

McKeller tapped Barker’s knee and was released. He rubbed his throat.

“I still think he shouldn’t have used his cane. ’Twas no proper bata fight to my way of looking at things.”

“Are you next, Mr. O’Casey?” Barker asked, bowing.

“Some other time,” O’Casey said nonchalantly. “Where did you learn to fight, Mr. van Rhyn?”

“Here and there,” came the reply. “There are some advantages to living a nomad’s existence.”

“Are we done now?” McKeller asked his friend. “This has built up a powerful thirst, and I want to be the first to pour my new little brother a drink. Great things, brothers. Always willing to lend you a shilling for a pint or two.”

Barker went back to the cottage, and I had several pints with McKeller, while with time and night air, my wounds slowly blossomed, every blessed one of them. I have a conviction that the
only good thing about alcohol is its use as an anesthetic. I don’t think I was brave enough to face all those bruises sober.

By the time I climbed into bed a second time that night, I had no trouble at all falling asleep. Between the nervous exhaustion from the demonstration, the ceilidh, the sudden kiss from Maire, and the initiation—with its branding, ceremony, and beatings—it was a wonder I was still conscious. My last thought before I slid into sleep, as easily as one slides beneath the surface of a pool, was this: of the two sides, theirs and ours, who that evening had provided the best show? At best, I’d call it even.

17

THE NEXT I KNEW, IT WAS MORNING. WARM, PAIN
fully bright sunshine streamed in from an open window, and the room was full of the scent of Barker’s tobacco, which at the moment smelled like burning seaweed. I tried rising, felt the effects of too much alcohol and the pain from the initiation, and thought better of it.

Barker was leaning against his headboard, his ankles crossed, his fingers knotted over his now-ample stomach, attempting to blow smoke rings.

“Morning, sir,” I muttered. I missed my room in Newington and my privacy.

“How are you feeling?” my employer asked.

I got up, groaning, and went to the ewer and bowl in the corner. Somehow, the water began turning blue. It took a moment for my disjointed brain to put it all together. I was still half clothed and covered in paint like a savage. There were arcane symbols all over my chest and face. Barker, of course, had washed his off the previous night and looked as normal as, well, as he had looked since this case began.

“How long were you there watching before you joined in?” I asked, as I wiped my face and chest with a towel.

“I wandered over during the initiation ceremony.”

“Why didn’t you stop them?” I demanded. The burn on my shoulder was a small, circular welt that stung like anything, and my mood was sour.

“Because I wanted you to be initiated, lad. Now we’re in. We can relax, at least a little.”

“You let McKeller and O’Casey thrash me,” I complained.

Barker managed one perfect smoke ring, then spoke. “You’ll live. Had they really intended to harm you, I would have stepped in. How was the rest of the night?”

“I don’t remember much of it, I’m afraid,” I said. “McKeller kept making toasts.”

“As soon as this case is over, I shall put you in Brother McClain’s hands at his Mile End mission in London. He’s had some success with inebriates such as you. What did you do before the initiation?”

I let the remark pass. “I went out to look at the damage to the lighthouse, and I may have kissed Maire O’Casey there,” I confessed. It was the last thing I wanted to reveal to him, but I knew it might affect the case and Barker’s plans in some way.

He puffed on his pipe a moment before launching another perfect circle of smoke across the bed. “You may have? You’re not sure?”

“No, I am sure. I kissed Maire O’Casey.”

“I see. Interesting. Did she kiss you back?”

I concentrated on my memories of the night before. “Rather.”

“You do realize that she is the sister of a young man who may have blown up Scotland Yard, not to mention our chambers.”

“Yes, sir.”

“You’re pretending to be someone else, and if she found out who you are, she’d probably loathe you. You are the enemy.”

“Yes, sir.”

“And need I remind you my agency doesn’t exist to find you female companionship.”

“No, sir.” The words stung worse than the burn. I despised myself for disappointing him.

“Miss O’Casey, like most beautiful young women, is a complication, and we have enough complications as it is. Keep your wits about you, Thomas.”

I sighed. “Yes, sir.”

“It’s for your own good. Wash again. You’re still blue about the ears.” He got up and left me to my ablutions.

The group was slowly awakening. Rising from around the now-ashen bonfire, the young men broke their fast on the stale bread and stout from the night before. I decided to wait until we were in Liverpool again before I dared to eat anything.

Maire O’Casey was still using Yeats as a beast of burden. He was loading the hamper and some pots and pans into the cart. I wondered what sort of reception she would give me, after last night. As it turned out, it was none at all. I might as well have been a ghost for all the attention she gave me.

Sore, tired, miserable, and confused, I climbed into the vehicle beside my employer and counseled myself to be philosophical. This is life. One minute, you’re the hero and the next, the goat. Yesterday, after the success of the demonstration, I felt I could do no wrong. Now, all I had to look forward to was a ride back to the railway halt with a group of sullen people and a train ride to Liverpool.

The next day there was another hurling match in Prince’s Park. As I watched, I reflected on the fact that none of the faction members appeared to have occupations. O’Casey was enjoying summer holiday from Trinity, but who fed and sheltered McKeller and the Bannons? Were they all living on American money, like Dunleavy? McKeller suddenly entreated me to stand in for one of the players, but I’d have none of it just yet, nor of the drinking bout that
occurred afterward when they won. Instead, after the game I jumped onto the first omnibus, heading back to the O’Casey house.

As I got off in Water Street, I passed a hansom cab sitting at the curb; hearing a voice I recognized, I glanced in. Two men were conversing, while the cabman and the horse waited patiently. One of the men was tall and the other short and stocky. I did not recognize the tall fellow, but there was no mistaking Inspector Munro of the Special Irish Branch. I could not believe he was here in Liverpool, a few blocks from our very street, merely sightseeing.

Suspecting I might be watched, I turned down a narrow alleyway to the next street and passed down it until I was near the back of the O’Casey house. There I squeezed between two buildings set close together, made my way to the back entrance, and went inside and upstairs quietly, so as not to alert anyone.

“Munro is in the area, not three streets from here,” I tumbled out, as I entered our room, but as usual, Barker was ahead of me. He had a chair pulled up against the wall near the window and was peering out while smoking his pipe.

“I’m not surprised. I do not care for the fellow, but he is no fool, and he has great resources.”

“What shall we do?” I whispered.

“We cannot alert the faction,” Barker said adamantly. “If the Special Irish Branch has arrived, I would not willingly jeopardize their investigation merely to save my own. You and I should lie low as much as possible and avoid being taken. Do not leave by the front door, by all means, and stay away from windows. Did you notice any constables at the hurling pitch this afternoon?”

“No, sir, but I wasn’t looking. If we get arrested, is there some way we could talk ourselves out of it? Munro will obviously recognize us if he sees us.”

“He would, but in order to clear the way for his own capture of the faction, he would probably keep us incarcerated for days. I’ve seen suspects held by the S.I.B. for a month.”

“A month!” I cried, my blood running cold.

“Oh, yes,” Barker assured me. “Her Majesty’s government takes treasonous acts very seriously.”

“But we’re innocent!” I stated. “We’re working for the Home Office.”

“Munro is not above his petty jealousies, and, as you are aware, he has a special antipathy for private enquiry agents.”

“Oh, that’s marvelous,” I muttered. “On the one hand, we have to aid the bombers and not reveal ourselves, lest we be killed, and on the other, we risk arrest and incarceration for an indefinite period, even if Munro knows who we are.”

“You put it most succinctly, lad.”

It did not help our predicament that Colonel Alfred Dunleavy came bowling in the next morning through the front door as bold as you please, brimming with confidence about our upcoming assault on London. I wanted to warn him and O’Casey that the Special Irish Branch was in the area, but Barker warned me to silence. We were playing a very close game. Especially damning was a newly acquired map of London with all the bombing sites marked that Dunleavy had brought with him.

“Five men, gentlemen,” he stated loudly enough to be heard in the street as he rolled out the map on the breakfast table around which I, Barker, and O’Casey sat. “Five heroes to bring London to her knees and to free Ireland from the chains of tyranny.”

The bombing targets were marked with stars in red ink. This was the colonel’s element, planning a campaign, a battle plan. Thirty sites were marked on the map.

“My word,” I blurted out, glancing over Dunleavy’s shoulder. “Buckingham Palace.”

“Yes,” Dunleavy enthused, misinterpreting my dread. “And the Houses of Parliament, the Home Office, the Prime Minister’s residence, the Horse Guards, and Scotland Yard again. Whitehall
shall be completely reduced to rubble. Then there is the Telephone Exchange, the Central Telegram office and Postal Exchange, the Bank of England—”

“Very good, Colonel,” Barker stated. “I see you have marked all the major train stations, as well. Do you think St. Paul’s is necessary?”

“To my way of thinking, Mr. van Rhyn,” Dunleavy stated, “our biggest troubles with England began when they broke away from the Catholic Church.”

“This is a very bold plan.”

“With your new explosives, we can afford to be bold.”

“So many sites,” O’Casey stated. “However will we manage it with just five men?”

“Each man shall go out armed with two satchels. Each satchel will contain a bomb, already primed and set with a timer. Each man shall deliver a bomb, setting it in some out-of-the-way corner, if possible, and carry the second one to another location. All at once, ten bombs will detonate simultaneously. In the confusion, our bombers shall return, collect two more bombs each, and deliver them to additional sites. A half hour or more later, the second group of bombs will explode, and a half hour beyond that, the third set.”

“So,” Barker said, “the government will be crippled, along with the train stations, the post offices, telegraphs, and the banks.”

“Yes,” Dunleavy continued, “and the gas and water as well. We’ll throw London back into the Dark Ages. Oh, and there is one thing more.”

“And that is?”

“We’re no longer targeting mere buildings, gentlemen. This time there will be casualties. It is time for the gloves to come off. That is why we’ll time our first attack for six o’clock, when the businesses are closing and street traffic is at its highest. Let us see what kind of carnage and terror we can create then.”

18

WE WAITED FOR TWO DAYS FOR SCOTLAND YARD
to appear on the doorstep. The wait was agonizing. Any minute, I thought, Inspector Munro and his boys were going to kick in the door, clap us in darbies, and haul us off to the constabulary for an indefinite stay, all our plans in ruins and Barker’s reputation in disgrace. After two days, however, we saw no sign of the Special Irish Branch in the area. It was a good thing, too, for all this confinement was wearing on our nerves.

“I must get out of this house,” Barker complained to me. “I cannot think here. I believe we can risk relaxing our vigil. Miss O’Casey!”

Maire O’Casey came in from the parlor, where she had been studying Gaelic. Like the others, she never knew how close the Special Irish Branch had been to discovering all of us. “Yes, Mr. van Rhyn?”