Unwritten Books 3 - The Young City (17 page)

Peter woke with a splitting headache and the feeling that something had crawled into his mouth and died. He tried to spit it out, but it wouldn’t budge. Something was wrapped across his lips, forcing the vile thing in. He gagged and retched. His hands jerked uselessly. They were twisted behind him and cuffed together, tied to cuffs latched to his ankles. He grunted in pain.

Someone behind him chuckled. “’Ere, he’s awake.”

He opened his eyes, blinking at the sudden brightness. He was bound to a wooden chair in the middle of a small, lamplit room. Hammers, crowbars, and saws dangled from hooks and shelving. He was tied so tight that his feet didn’t touch the floor. More ropes wound around his legs and chest. He struggled, but his wrists chafed. He grunted again.

Someone stepped around his chair and peered close. Peter found himself staring into the face of one of the boys he’d gotten fired. The boy sneered. “He’s the one. A stool pigeon, too? I should have known. Well, I’ll learn you ....” He raised his fist. Peter closed his eyes.

“That’s enough,” said a smooth, cultured voice. The boy glared, shrugged, then stalked away. Aldous Birge and Rob Cameron stepped around Peter’s chair and leaned in. Aldous tested the ropes that were holding Peter taut. “Comfortable?”

Peter grunted.

Aldous glanced at Rob. “Recognize him?”

“No,” said Rob, frowning. “But I know him from somewhere, I’m sure of it.”

Aldous turned back to Peter. “Peter ... McAllister, is it? I’m Aldous Birge. It seems that you know who I am.”

Peter grunted again.

Aldous crouched low, peering into Peter’s eyes. “I have to say that your knowledge troubles me. I have prided myself on keeping a low profile where the police are concerned. It appears I may have underestimated their investigative skills.”

Peter stared. Was Aldous interested in having him talk, or not?

Aldous started to say something more, but was interrupted by a knock from somewhere behind Peter. A door creaked open. “Edmund Watson to see you, sir.”

Aldous straightened up. “Can’t you see I’m busy?”

“Peter?” gasped another voice: Edmund’s.

Aldous grabbed the back of Peter’s chair and dragged it around. “You know this man?”

Edmund was flanked by henchmen. He stared at Peter like a man at a gaping chasm. He stammered. “He-he-he lives with us. He and his wife, Rosemary —”

Peter grunted desperately, shaking his head for silence, but he was too late.

“That’s it!” Rob thumped his fist. “That wench who broke my nose! He was with her that day!”

“Rosemary?” Aldous repeated. “Rosemary Watson? Married to Peter with the last name McAllister?”

Edmund stood agog.

Aldous gripped Peter’s shoulders hard. “You have been deceived, Edmund. Peter McAllister and Rosemary Watson, if those are their real names, have conspired to keep their true identities secret while they infiltrated your home and my construction site. Interesting that they knew where my interests lay.” His voice ran like honey. “Or perhaps they didn’t deceive you. Perhaps
you
have been deceiving
me
.”

Edmund paled. He wagged his head desperately. “Mr. Birge, I assure you, I have no idea what you are talking about.”

Aldous shrugged. “Perhaps if we spoke with your sister we could be more assured of your loyalty.”

Edmund looked ready to faint. “No! Do not harm Faith! Please, Mr. Birge!”

Peter grunted, agreeing with Edmund.

“We will not harm your sister, Edmund,” said Aldous. “But perhaps she will be interested in hearing the benefits of our business relationship. You can explain, can’t you, Edmund?”

“Mr. Birge, please —”

“Bring her in, boys,” said Aldous. Some of Aldous’s thugs turned and strode out the door.

“And have Edmund wait comfortably in my office,” Aldous went on. “Make sure he
waits
.”

Two henchmen gripped Edmund’s shoulders. Edmund gave Peter one more wide-eyed glance before he
was pulled from the room.

Aldous leaned into Peter’s vision again. “I’m sure we can clear this up,” he said. “I’ll know better what to do when you tell me who you work for and how much you know. I’m sure you’re interested in talking to me, just as I’m sure you’re interested in rising from this chair.”

He reached for Peter’s gag, then hesitated. “But
I
am interested in the complete and unvarnished truth, and I think you might be more forthcoming with that truth after you’ve had some time to think over your predicament.” He stood up. “We’ll talk in the morning.”

Peter grunted in alarm.

Aldous turned away, waving for his remaining men to follow. “Good night, Mr. McAllister.”

Peter thrust against his bonds, grunting as the cuffs and ropes pinched. Will Farley, the last to leave, smiled and blew out the lantern. The door clicked shut and was bolted, leaving Peter alone in the dark.

RUN SILENT, RUN DEEP

Rosemary sat on the basement stairs. Enough light seeped in from under the door for her to barely make out the walls and floor around her, but the stairs vanished into a sea of darkness. She could have fetched the candle, she supposed, fumbling around in the dark for it, but without a match it was useless. She sat with her chin in her hands and sighed.

Then she perked up. How had Edmund delivered those crates unnoticed? Perhaps there were other stairs leading out of the basement. That would be worth fumbling around in the dark for.

Then she heard footsteps in the kitchen, and she abandoned the plan, leaping to her feet. Was this Edmund, coming back? “Edmund! Open this door!”

The footsteps halted.

“Edmund, please,” said Rosemary, putting as much meek into her voice as it would hold. “Let me out! I’m
just a helpless female and I promise I won’t do anything to you.” Under her breath she added, “Like kick you in a sensitive place!”

No response.

She thumped the door. “Edmund!”

The door swept open, knocking Rosemary back against the wall. She gathered herself for a leap, then stopped when she found herself staring up at Faith, who stood wide-eyed in astonishment.

Rosemary flashed a smile. “Hi, Faith!”

Faith pulled Rosemary into the kitchen. “Rosemary, what is going on? Did Edmund lock you in the basement?”

Rosemary hesitated. What could she say to Faith? Your brother’s hooked up with a local criminal and he locked me away when he realized I’d found out? But her silence told almost as much.

Faith gaped. “Why did he ... Why would he ... Why?” Her face darkened. “What did you do?”

“Nothing!”

“Then why did he lock you in the basement?”

Rosemary brushed herself off. “I’m not sure I can tell you.”

Faith grabbed her arm. “Tell me!”

Rosemary shook her off. “Edmund’s fallen in with bad people! I found out, and he locked me in there until he could figure out a way to get me out of the house. There, satisfied?”

Faith stared. Then her eyes glazed. “The bolt of fabric.” She turned away, her fingers twitching. Then she drew herself up and strode toward the hall door. Rosemary followed. “Faith?”

Faith pushed open the door to Edmund’s bedroom and staggered at the sight of the mess. She shoved boxes aside and waded to Edmund’s desk.

“It’s locked,” said Rosemary.

Faith pulled a set of keys from a pocket in her skirt. Selecting the right one, she slid it in the lock. It clicked. Faith pulled the drawer open and hauled out the leather-bound ledger. She flipped through it. Rosemary stood at the door, biting her lip.

Faith stopped and stared. She flipped between pages and stared again. “Rosemary, I am no businessman, but is not red ink bad?”

Rosemary nodded. “I’m sorry, Faith.”

“He was losing ten dollars a month!” Faith stared at the ledger in shock. “Taxes were due, licence fees ....” She blinked. “But then he found fifty dollars.”

Rosemary snatched the ledger. Her practised eye skipped down the line of numbers. “Found, nothing. He’s been receiving ten dollars at the end of each week. It doesn’t say from where; just like the first fifty dollars, which conveniently paid off creditors, taxes, and the licence fee.”

Faith drooped. “Oh, Edmund, how could you?”

Rosemary touched Faith’s shoulder. Then she paused.

“Where is Edmund, anyway?”

Faith frowned. “He was not here when I arrived ...

Wait ... It is half past eight. Where is Peter?”

The colour drained from Rosemary’s cheeks. She set the ledger down with a thump. “Peter?” She strode into the hallway. “He should have been here an hour ago!”

Faith grabbed her elbow. “What’s that noise?”

They listened. A soft rattle of metal and wood came to their ears from the front of the store. The bell above the door tinkled softly.

“Edmund?” Faith started toward the store, but Rosemary grabbed her and pulled her back. They stood, watching and listening.

The store was full of shadows. The street light glared across the empty sidewalk and through the shop window. Two hunched figures showed outside the doorway. The handle twisted and the door shook.

“We are being robbed!” gasped Faith.

“No,” said Rosemary, her face grim. “We’re being kidnapped!” She grabbed Faith’s wrist. “Come on! Out the back door!”

They walked quickly but quietly down the hallway and were halfway to the kitchen when they heard the door jangle and hard soles hit the storeroom floor.

“She’s not here,” said a gruff voice.

“’Course not,” said another. “Check the kitchen. Check the bedroom.” He gave a throaty chuckle. “Perhaps we’ll surprise her in bed.”

Rosemary pulled at Faith, who had frozen in indignation, and dragged her into the kitchen. She reached for the back door, but stopped when she saw the handle jiggle and turn. She turned to Faith and mouthed, “Did you lock the door?”

Wide-eyed, Faith shook her head.

Rosemary pointed at the stairs. Together they dashed, Rosemary heading for the basement, Faith for the sanctuary of her bedroom. Rosemary just managed to grab Faith’s wrist and pull her to the basement landing when the back door opened.

A burly man strode in, turned, and saw Faith, framed in the landing doorway. “Faith Watson? A friend of Edmund wants to see you.”

Hidden in the shadows, Rosemary gave Faith one last pull. The woman stumbled down the basement steps.

The burly man strode onto the landing and stared into the sea of darkness. He sucked his teeth. “Damn. Of all the places to hide.”

“What’s wrong?” said one of the voices from the front of the store. “That’s where we were going to take her.”

The first henchman stood out as a silhouette. He reached out and pulled the voice into view. Just the shadow of a head was visible. “Look down there. Did you remember to bring the lanterns?”

“I didn’t. Smith did.”

The silhouette flinched. “Smith? On the boat? You idiot!”

“What?” said the head shadow.

The silhouette’s voice took on a lecturing tone. “Smith’s on the boat. Lanterns are on the boat. We’re up here. That,” he thrust a finger at the dark basement, “is between us. You see the problem?”

The head shadow stared. “Oh. Right. Damn!”

“Get their lanterns,” said the silhouette. “Or find their candles. Get me some light!”

There was a shuffle of feet and canisters. Something dropped and shattered. In the darkness, Faith let out a squeak.

Then someone let out a triumphant shout. “Candles! Found them!”

A match struck. Yellow light flickered. A candle appeared in the silhouette’s hand. No longer a silhouette, he took two steps, stopped, and stared down at Rosemary, who had pressed herself against the stairs, looking up at him. Before he could shout, she lunged for his ankles.

The man fell back, knocking the other henchmen into the kitchen. The candle slipped from his fingers, through the slats of the stairs, and onto a crate. Faith snatched it up. Rosemary scrambled up over the man’s body, her knee smashing his chin, and slammed the basement door closed before the others could rush. She leaned on it as they shook the handle and thumped.

She saw Faith standing at the foot of the stairs, holding the candle and staring. The first man sprawled between them, unconscious.

“Faith,” she whispered. “Come on! Pull him up!”

Faith clambered up the stairs, passed the candle to Rosemary, and dragged the unconscious man the remaining feet to the landing. With Rosemary’s help, they propped him against the door and braced his feet on the opposite wall.

Faith stepped back. “’Tis a very temporary solution.”

“’Tis indeed,” muttered Rosemary. “Is there any other way out of this basement?”

“No,” gasped Faith.

Rosemary started. “Then how did they deliver all of those crates?” She slapped her forehead. “Of course! The boat!” She grabbed Faith’s hand. “Come on!”

“Where are we going?” Faith clattered down the stairs after her.

“The other way out.” Rosemary raised the candle and peered through the gloom until she spotted the boom and tackle in the corner.

Faith stared at the row upon row of crates. Her shoulders sagged. “Oh, Edmund!”

They stumbled through the aisles to the corner. Suddenly, their boot soles met hollow wood instead of foundation stone. Rosemary stepped back and shone the candlelight on a huge trap door lying beneath the boom and tackle. There was a smaller trap door within it, big enough for a person to fit through. Rosemary pulled the latch. Cool, moist air struck her face with the sound of running water. Stairs descended into the dark.

Suddenly, a voice called out. “Hey! Did you get her?” A light shone up and swept over Rosemary’s knees.

Rosemary didn’t drop the hatch. Instead, she blew out her candle and dropped her voice an octave. “Yeah. Come up here. We need help.”

The man below chuckled. “Didn’t come quietly, did she? Had to tie her up, did you?”

“Yeah,” said Rosemary. “She’s heavy.”

“I’m coming up.” There was a splash, then the sound of boots on wood. The lantern light shook as the boatman mounted the steps. He pushed the hatch aside and stared at Faith and Rosemary staring back at him. “You’re not tied up. Where are the oth—”