Boots for the Gentleman (20 page)

“What the—”

A boy of about twelve handed Querry a canning jar full of cloudy water, and Querry drank. Gradually he recalled the battle in Slouch End, though he couldn’t envision how it had ended. Soon two other boys joined the first, crouching beside Querry with their elbows on their knees.

“We heard what you done,” said one. “Back in the Slouch End.”

“We wouldn’t let them saw your foot off,” said another proudly.

Remembering his injury, Querry curled and uncurled his toes. His foot felt cold, but the pain wasn’t much, considering. Looking down, he saw a scabbed-over gash. It didn’t look red or puffy, though: no infection.

“Got hold of some gin to pour over it,” the boy continued.

“Thanks,” Querry said. In a place like this, one didn’t sacrifice gin lightly. “What happened?”

“Barty Siddle got hold of ye. Turned ye in for a hundred-pound reward.”

“I had someone with me.”

“Silver-haired bloke? The constables took him off somewhere else. I’ll tell you what, he looked a little like a pansy, but he could fight like a demon. Took eight of ’em to get him in the wagon.”

“Where did they take him?” Querry asked, even though he knew the answer.

The boys shrugged. The one who’d saved Querry’s foot said, “It’ll be off to the workhouses for us. Not that they’ll keep us long.”

“Better than the colonies,” said the boy with the water jar.

“Why would they keep me alive?” Querry mused. Of course, they’d taken his gear and stripped him down to his shirt and trousers. One of his benefactors had wrapped a scratchy blanket around his shoulders. It didn’t make any sense. Now that they had Frolic, why not just put a bullet in his head? Unless they wanted a hanging, a public spectacle.

Tearing a few strips from the blanket with his teeth, Querry wrapped his bare foot and stood. He could try to escape, but he had no great expectations. The windows with the iron bars were twelve feet above his head, and the walls were likely four feet thick. A huge metal door, green with oxidation, stood at the other end of the room. It had no handle on the inside. And while no guards patrolled the prison interior, Querry knew the yard beyond would be a different story. All he could do for now would be to wait and try to recover his strength.

A few hours later, just after sunset, the prison staff lit the candles that sat on the crate tables, and the residents lined up to receive a loaf of rock-hard bread and jar of water. Bullies immediately tried to take the rations from the weak, and several fights were broken up by the clubs of the guards. Querry found a secluded corner and finished his cheerless supper. Covering as much of his body as he could, he drew his knees up and leaned his head against the wall to try to sleep amidst the crying of babies, drunken altercations, and the babbling of the mad. Off in the dark, he heard the too-familiar sounds of women and boys fighting off unwanted attention. He found it disgraceful not to even separate the women and children from the men.

Shivering and hungry, Querry thought about the Thimbleroy manor and the luxuries within: stuffed leather chairs beside cozy fires, trays of fruit, biscuits and fine cheeses to snack upon, tumblers of good whiskey and cigars, tubs of hot, bubbling water, soft towels, silk robes, satin sheets, and servants to turn down the beds. Was that where Frolic was at the moment? What would he be doing: sitting down to a dinner party or shooting billiards in the study? Did Querry have any right to deny Frolic a life of such pleasures, just because he wanted Frolic for himself? He’d introduced Frolic to a hard world, a world where survival meant struggle, and a world where innocents suffered. Thimbleroy could give him a life unlike Querry could ever dream of providing.

But Querry could picture the aging aristocrat closing a carved door and ordering Frolic to undress, to get on the bed. Querry could see Frolic’s fair, slight form beneath the velvet canopy, waiting, wondering. Was it a good trade, comfort for freedom? If he believed that, Querry could just go and live with his gentleman and want for nothing. No, Frolic should be given the choice, and Querry would see, somehow, that he was.

Querry closed his eyes. He was tired after the fever and the fight. He thought about his gentleman. Maybe the faerie would come and rescue him, force the guards and prisoners to stare in dumb impotence as the two of them strolled leisurely away. He could imagine it: the gentleman talking animatedly about a play or party, completely oblivious to the danger and despair around them. He’d probably insist Querry accompany him to some sort of bizarre dance or symphony. Not for the first time, Querry had a sense of something significant that he couldn’t grasp. But he was too exhausted to puzzle it out just now, and so he forgot it.

O
VER
the next three days, little broke the bleak monotony of prison life. In the morning the prisoners got a metal dish of gruel and a cup of milk that had usually gone sour. Then the guards rounded up those people scheduled to be deported to the colonies and those to be executed. Orphans left for the factories. Querry spent the afternoons pacing, trying to examine the windows and walls for ways of escape without being obvious. So far it seemed his only chance would be to run past the guards when they opened the door to distribute food. He didn’t like his odds of being shot in the back, though. Now and then the inmates got to spend a little time walking the desolate, gray yard.

On the fourth day of Querry’s incarceration, four constables in their blue uniforms and silly hats came looking for him just after breakfast. They cuffed his hands with heavy, iron manacles and led him into a corridor beyond the entrance. They walked by more metal doors, until one of them stopped and unlocked one. Another pushed Querry inside the tiny cell, which contained a utilitarian desk and chair, and another chair facing it. At the desk sat a portly, middle-aged man in a brown suit and a salmon-colored kerchief that almost matched his complexion. His jowls drooped, and a ring of ruddy flesh squished out around his starched collar. He looked up at Querry without much interest, then back down at the papers he examined by a gas lamp. A guard dragged Querry to the unoccupied chair, slammed him down, and secured his ankles to the chains welded to its legs.

The man at the desk cleared his throat and began reading. “Name: Querrilous Knotte. Date of birth: unknown. Age: unknown, presumably between eighteen and twenty-two years. Current address and family are unknown. Charges include burglary, larceny, sodomy, treason—including faerie collaboration—inciting of a riot, assault and murder. The penalty for which shall be death by hanging.”

“Aren’t I supposed to stand trial?”

The man looked up at Querry and smirked, as if to say,
Who do you think you are?
He continued, “However by intervention on the part of Lord Pyramus Earnest Thimbleroy, Grande Chancellor, the sentence shall be reduced to permanent exile on the Gondwalla Island Colony, if the accused is willing to cooperate by answering fully all queries set forth by his Lordship.”

Querry snorted. He knew if he answered the questions, the four burly constables would take him to a secluded alley and slit his throat.

“Skeptical, Mr. Knotte?” asked the pudgy attorney. He held up a page and pointed. “This is His Lordship’s signature and seal. He’s arranged for you to make the journey to Gondwalla Island in three days time. If you cooperate, that is. You’ll be given lodging and respectable work.”

“I’ve had a taste of your idea of respectable work,” Querry said. “I don’t care for a second helping.”

A guard with a thick, red moustache hit Querry with the back of his hand. Querry’s lips pulsed and swelled, and blood trickled down his chin. “No speaking out of turn,” the guard warned.

Barely fazed, the barrister continued. “First question,” he said, dipping his pen in anticipation of recording the answer, “Where and how did you acquire the clockwork mechanism that you refer to as Frolic?”

“I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.”

“Constable, if you please.”

The guard backhanded Querry again, splitting his lip. Eyes watering, he spat the blood on the floor.

“Second question. Upon obtaining the aforementioned clockwork mechanism, did any other clockwork machines come into your possession? Or literature relating to the construction of clockwork mechanisms?”

“Clockwork mechanism,” Querry said, shaking his head and making his chains rattle. “Fuck you.”

The hairy fist struck him on the cheek, making him and the chair fly through the air. It landed on its side, and Querry smacked his head and scraped his shoulder. Two guards hauled him back up and positioned him in front of the desk. Blood dripped into his left eye from a cut on his brow, and a strand of his black hair stuck in the wound.

“Where is the book, Mr. Knotte?”

“Bugger it,” Querry said, bracing himself for the next round of blows. The barrister asked the book’s location three more times, and by the end both of Querry’s eyes had nearly swollen shut, his mouth and nose bled, and a molar had come loose. But a little laugh escaped his blood-soaked lips, because he knew they couldn’t kill him or they’d never find the book.

Finally the attorney stood and stashed his papers in a leather case. “Same time tomorrow, I presume,” he said as he left the cell, leaving Querry alone with the guards. Querry knew well enough how it would go as he watched the metal door close and lock.

“Arrogant little faerie-loving queer,” said one of the guards, knocking Querry back down on his side with a savage blow. “Like the taste of faerie cock, do ye? Like to steal babies?” They circled him, and Querry shielded his head with his bound hands as their boot-toes prodded his ribs and belly, feeling out the soft places to kick.

“Son of a mongrel bitch,” they taunted as they drove their feet against Querry’s back and sides. He sobbed dryly and began to cough, amusing the guards immensely. “Where’s your faggot faerie friends now?” Querry curled into a tight ball and waited for the assault to end. Finally, panting with exertion, the guards dragged him back to the main room of the prison.

“We got this for ye every day, until you decide to talk. Miserable little cocksucker.”

That night, Querry used half of his water ration to clean the dried blood from his face. The adolescent boys of the prison, to whom Querry had grown into an almost legendary figure, gave him a large bowl of some alcohol they made by fermenting bread crusts and the occasional potato peel. The stuff tasted like the Devil’s piss, but it eased Querry’s pain and helped him sleep.

True to their word, the four constables came to interrogate Querry every morning after breakfast. He gave up eating, as he’d almost certainly throw up the gruel during the inevitable beating. Through the questions, kicks and blows, Querry mustered the strength to stay silent by remembering the good times he’d shared with Frolic. No matter what they did to him, he wouldn’t betray Frolic. By picturing Frolic’s bemused smile, the trust in his eyes, and the way his lips trembled and fell open when he came, Querry could almost transcend the brutal assaults, almost step outside of himself until that attorney admitted another defeat.

Back in the cold, straw-strewn room, though, Querry’s aches returned, and his growing sense of despair deepened. He’d been imprisoned over two weeks. Thimbleroy could have Frolic out of the country by now, and Querry was no closer to orchestrating his escape. His will was strong, but he was mortal after all, and he didn’t know how much more his body could endure. How long before one of the guards ruptured an organ or broke a vital bone? His only hope seemed to be the faerie gentleman. Many nights, out of sheer desperation, he stared at the sky and called out to his gentleman with his mind. A few times he thought he caught a few bars of the atonal music he associated with the faerie, but still no one came. The beatings continued, and the lack of decent food sapped Querry’s strength. Probably the fey had forgotten him in favor of whatever pretty thing had his eye at the moment. Querry couldn’t blame him, either. His kind didn’t measure relationships as humans did. Neither cruelty nor indifference caused the gentleman to ignore Querry’s plight, or wonder about the thief’s condition. It simply didn’t occur to him.

The winter holiday granted Querry a two-day respite from questioning. Each of the prisoners received a salty scrap of ham, a roast potato and some mushy greens. Beyond the cinderblock walls, cathedral bells rang day and night. Sipping the foul-tasting, clear spirit brewed by the boys, Querry imagined Reg dancing around a lighted tree with plain Emily Malvern. He imagined Frolic in a red, sateen suit at the Thimbleroy Yule Ball, and he felt so lonely and forgotten that for the first time in his life he didn’t know if he could go on, keep fighting. He missed the warm weight of his cats as he slept. Though he hadn’t realized it at the time, he’d planned to settle down with Frolic. He’d been saving for a house. His neck crumpled, and his head came to rest against the cold, stone wall. He stared into the darkness, too depleted even to cry. Eventually, sheer exhaustion granted him a brief respite from his despair.

Querry was little surprised by the appearance of the quartet of constables the next morning.

“That’s him there,” bellowed one of the large men. “Querrilous Knotte.”

But then, from behind the shoulders of two guards, appeared a smaller man in an understated, gray suit. He had a delicate, pretty face, thick, sand-colored hair, and the gentlest hazel eyes. He stared down at Querry with an unspoken plea, and Querry understood.

“You say this is the thief and murderer here.”

“That’s right, sir. He’s an incorrigible one. No idea what his Lordship thinks you’ll be able to get out of him. Begging your pardon, sir.” It almost made Querry smile, the deference these brutes showed Reg.

“His Lordship merely wishes for an official account of this villain’s career to be placed in the royal archives, for the sake of history. As Chief Archivist, the unhappy task of interviewing him falls to me. I don’t suppose you could take him into another room? A gentleman in my position is unaccustomed to dealing with such a stink as fills this one.”