The 7th of London (36 page)

W
AVERLY
emerged onto the street and took a deep breath, thankful for the filthy air of Blackside. He basked in the cold winter air, relieved to no longer have thousands of pounds of rock hovering above his head. He stretched happily. There was room to stretch down there, but it somehow never felt like it. Something about the architecture gave him the goose bumps, and he didn’t know how those children managed to sleep down there. Wave hoped Sev wouldn’t run across too much trouble in that bizarre underground city.

Leave it to Sev to get involved with a crazy plot to overthrow the queen’s betrothed that involved a giant clockwork man. Wave smiled, shoving his hands into his pockets.
Good old Sev
, Waverly thought. As he walked the streets of Blackside, his mind inevitably wandered to Sev’s emotional confession some years ago. It caused mixed feelings for Waverly. He felt flattered, but he also felt completely uncomfortable, and he didn’t want to lose Sev as a friend. He’d told him exactly what was going on in his head, and Sev had accepted it for what it was. Waverly wasn’t sure how this kind of thing worked with anyone else, but as always with Sev, he dealt with a situation and moved on.

Kettlebent had similar feelings for Sev that Sev had expressed having for Waverly. Waverly knew there were men like his friend out there, and he knew how the Fairsies and most of the Blacksiders felt on the subject, but Sev was his friend and one of the most admirable, most loyal, most trustworthy men Waverly had ever met. There’s no way he’d judge his old friend for his personal predilections. In fact, he realized it made him happy that his friend might be able to find someone with similar tastes as himself and maybe find a bit of happiness in this hard, old world. Lord knew, Waverly wished for someone to share that kind of bond with.

Unfortunately, he wasn’t going to find it fumbling and fondling with the gin-soaked harpies and downtrodden whores who frequented the Bacchus and Tun. The thought of the prostitutes drew his mind to Sev’s and his friend, Annie. Waverly was happy that the pretty young girl had finally managed to get out of that type of life. The more he thought about it, the more it seemed possible that maybe he and Annie could figure something out together. They’d always gotten along well. It seemed as though she had a little something going with that Rat fellow but, given time, who knew? When she returned with Sev, Waverly would have to reconnect with her.

A sound drew his wandering attention back to the present. Someone had bumped into a trash bin. Waverly lived on the streets long enough to know not to look immediately in that direction. Instead he humped his shoulders up, appearing to curl against the cold, and flicked his gaze to either side. He cursed to himself because he not only saw the bin bumper but at least two other figures moving too close to him.

Waverly wondered what Sev would do in this situation. Probably just turn on the bastards and challenge them. Sev always carried at least three weapons at any given time, and Waverly was all too aware the only weapon he carried was his pocketknife. He slipped it open inside his coat. What would Sev’s backup plan be? Waverly scanned the alley. He’d seen Sev scramble up walls. Waverly noticed a rusted downspout and wondered if he could do the same. It seemed to him a much better option than fighting at least three or likely more well-armed men with a pocketknife.

His mind made up, he walked a little faster and then leaped onto the pipe, trying to find purchase with his feet and hands. Too soon, they were on him, dragging him back to the ground. He kicked and tried to get his hand on his knife, but one had pinned his arms while another tried to restrain him. Waverly thrashed and managed to free one arm, smacking one of his would-be captors. He freed his other arm and rolled, preparing to push himself up. He saw the third attacker’s foot hurtling toward his face and then nothing.

W
HEN
Waverly woke, he first noticed his face hurt. He tasted blood, and he couldn’t move his arms. He managed to open one eye and looked around the room lit by a single gas lamp. He’d heard that when people awoke in these situations, they didn’t know where they were at first, but that wasn’t true for Waverly. He knew exactly where he was. He hadn’t been in this room before, but it had been rebuilt to the exact specifications of the original. Fervis’s punishment room. The place he took people he wanted to silence. There were gutters in the floor and a drain to catch and usher the blood away.

Waverly and Sev accidently got a look in the original room one night, years ago, when they’d crept out of their beds in the night to snoop around the Auto-Cobblery. Their little excursions were a way for them to feel empowered, like they were getting one over on the adults, the bastards who constantly forced their will upon the younger and weaker. They’d been trying to find a place to duck into when they’d heard voices and the open door to the Bad Room, as they’d called it back then, because the really bad kids were brought in there. Sev and his siblings were the only ones who had seen the inside and been permitted to leave afterward, although horribly scarred. That’s probably why Sev had known instantly that the door wouldn’t have been open if they weren’t planning to bring someone in, and those voices were the Footmen dragging someone to an awful fate. They’d managed to avoid the room that day.

He shook his head. How could he have been so stupid? People who saw this room rarely saw anywhere else afterward. Waverly’s gaze fell on a butcher-block table with metal instruments glinting on the surface. He saw chains, ropes, and whips in varying quantities. His brain protested, not wanting to believe what his eyes were sending it. He strained at the belts attached to the chair in which he was strapped. He felt heat behind him. Had he seen a stove that first night? He may have, but before he could examine his memories any further, the door opened.

A wiry, rat-faced man in a filthy bowler hat stepped in, his mouth twisted in a grin revealing nearly black, crooked teeth. He must be new. Waverly didn’t recognize him as one of the old guards. The bracers of his trousers were down, and he wore a stained undershirt. He chuckled and cracked his knuckles ominously. Waverly didn’t like that sound, didn’t like it one bit. He liked it even less when Blacktooth slipped on a set of brass knuckles.

“Well, isn’t this just cozy?” Waverly heard Fervis’s voice before the man strode through the door. The old bastard was almost just as Waverly remembered him, though his hair had gone a little grayer at the temples. He still combed and oiled it every day, and his mustache was still impeccably trimmed, a cigar clenched in the teeth below. One sharp, sparkling hazel eye looked out from beneath a bushy eyebrow raised in perverse amusement. The other eye was gone, thanks to Sev. The vain bastard wore a fancy brocade patch over the ruined socket. He was dressed as if he was attending a dinner party rather than a torture session, but that was Fervis.

“Isn’t it just?” Waverly answered. He tried to keep an eye on Blacktooth, but the man had moved to Waverly’s back.

“Do you know why I’ve brought you here, Billy?” Fervis exhaled a large puff of smoke toward his prisoner.

Waverly winced, more at the nickname than the smoke. “I’ve an idea.”

“That’s our sharp little Billy,” Fervis simpered, pinching Waverly’s cheek. “You’ve grown into quite the handsome young man, haven’t you, Billy?”

“Thanks,” Waverly answered. “You’re lookin’ well. Put on some weight?”

A scowl washed across Fervis’s face. “Smug little bastard.” Fervis stood. “Reilly.” Blacktooth stepped into Waverly’s peripheral vision and punched him with the brass knuckles. Pain bloomed bright and fresh across his cheekbone. He heard something crack and wondered if the others heard it as well. His eyes teared up on impact, another spot of hurt to join the others. Waverly spat out a tooth and some blood. “Lovely shot, Reilly,” Fervis congratulated the man.

“Fank you, sir,” Reilly answered in a thick cockney accent.

“Not at all, Reilly.” Fervis continued to puff his cigar and began pacing in front of Waverly. “Now, Billy, down to it, yes? Yes. You escaped my employ with your miserable little friend a few years ago. I let you go. True, I was a bit preoccupied with my factory and home burning to the ground, but I’m a good, Christian man, Billy. I believe in forgiveness. I forgive you, Billy.”

“Get to the point, Fervis,” Waverly growled. Fervis curled his lip and waved to Blacktooth. The sweaty man cocked his arm back and walloped Waverly in the ribs. The boy coughed as the air was forced from his lungs.

“Show some respect, boy. The only reason you still live is because I allow it. Do you really think I couldn’t come for you, bring you back? Don’t believe it. A small stipend paid by your benevolent employer has kept me
disinterested
.” Fervis injected the last word with venom. “And my pleasant and forgiving nature, of course,” he added with a falsely kind smile. “So in truth, Billy, you should be thanking me for the pleasant life you have now.” Fervis stopped pacing and crossed his arms, seemingly waiting. “Well?”

“Well what?” Waverly snapped.

“Thank me,” Fervis answered calmly, dangerously. Waverly stubbornly said nothing. “I’m a patient man, Billy, but don’t push your luck.”

“Piss off,” Waverly answered.

Fervis roared in response and kicked the chair with all his might. Waverly toppled over, landing hard on the concrete floor. “Thank me, you insufferable little prick!” He didn’t give Waverly a chance to answer, just gave him another kick. Waverly was sure one of his ribs cracked. “Pick him up!”

Blacktooth rushed to obey, righting the chair and Waverly. He leaned in and whispered, “I’d do ’ut ’e says, luv.” The man’s breath stank. Waverly groaned.

“What was that, Billy?” Fervis leaned forward and cupped his hand around his ear. “Did I hear a thank-you?”

Waverly ground his teeth and without moving his jaw, bit out, “Thanks.”

“There we are,” Fervis said, beaming. He clapped Waverly on the shoulder, exacerbating the pain in his ribs. “All friends again. That’s good. Grand. Lovely.”

“Brilliant,” Waverly agreed dismissively.

“Right. Let’s talk about Seven.”

“If we must.”

“My good Christian nature only extends so far,” Fervis continued. “I’ve forgiven you, Billy. I don’t blame you. Seven, on the other hand, was nothing but a pestilence since the day he arrived in my life. I want nothing more than to scrape the little shite off my boot for good. I thought keeping an eye on you would afford me a way to find him, but he’s been maddeningly difficult to locate. Imagine my surprise when I’m attending the Yule Ball at the royal palace and the horrible son of a bitch emerges from Lord Fairgate’s personal quarters!”

“Oh my,” Waverly stated with honest surprise.

“Shocking, I know. Then I found out he stole that man’s personal journal. So me being a good and decent Englishman, I offered to find the reprehensible little bugger. Men all over Blackside and not a hair to be seen. Do you know what happened next?”

“I don’t.”

“His body was found on the steps of the palace! Supposedly killed by that bounder, Jack Midnight, and offered up like some pagan sacrificial lamb. No point in watching you any longer, is there?”

“I suppose not,” Waverly answered.

“Then some time later, three of my men not only see but chase someone they swear is Seven, back from the dead apparently. And can you imagine, he disappeared into the sewers in a puff of smoke like the filthy little turd he is. I listen, you know. To the peasants, the rumors, the word on the street as it were. And do you know what amazing thing I’ve heard?” Waverly shook his head slowly. Fervis pressed on. “I heard a most fantastical story about an underground city filled with children, where our Mr. Seven has taken up residence. Isn’t that silly?”

“Very silly,” Waverly agreed. He wanted to shrug, but it hurt too badly.

“You think so? Yes. Well, do you also find it silly that my men started watching you again after that little sighting? And that they saw you disappear into the same sewer in an equally silly puff of smoke?”

“I don’t know where Seven is,” Waverly answered before the question was asked.

“Really? What’s in that sewer, then? Snooker club? A pub for local gobshites like you? Certainly not a goddamned underground city like Alice in bloody Wonderland! But there’s something down there that attracts you bastards, and I want in.”

“I didn’t go into a sewer,” Waverly answered, deciding denial his best course of action.

“Don’t worry, Billy. I won’t ruin your secret underground boys’ club. I only want Seven. My men and I will go in, fetch him, and leave your little clubhouse completely untouched. You have my word.”

“I—” Waverly wasn’t sure what he planned to say. Certainly he couldn’t give up the whereabouts of the revolution. No. Sev wouldn’t talk in his situation. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Fervis made another gesture with his hand. “No need to answer so quickly, Billy. Take a moment to think about it.”

“I don’t need to think about it.” He heard Blacktooth stirring the coals of the stove. “There’s nothing to think about. I don’t know anything.”

“Billy. Billy. Billy. Are you certain this is the tactic you’re committed to employ?” Fervis asked with a frown.

“It’s not a tactic. I don’t know where Seven is. I don’t know what sewer you’re talking about, and I’ve never been in any sewers, clubhouses, or underground cities.”

“Pity.” Fervis turned his back.

Waverly breathed. “I’m sorry, Fervis. If I knew anything at all, I’d tell you. Honest.” Waverly couldn’t believe the old bastard was just giving up. He wagered apologizing, maybe promising to keep an eye out for Sev, would get him out of here a little quicker. Then he could warn everyone about Fervis’s renewed hunt.

“Honest?” Fervis repeated, his back still facing Waverly.

“Yes. You know I hear a lot of gossip at the B & T. I could listen for word of Sev. If I see him or hear anything, I can bring it back to you.”