The 7th of London (5 page)

Sev slipped back around the building, dashing to position himself behind the carriage. It was just beginning to pull away as he crouched and ran to jump on the back of the automated machine. He could hear voices inside but couldn’t make out what they were saying. The carriage stopped a few times at intersections. After Draper Street, the voices diminished considerably. Sev heard an odd grinding of metal as the carriage pulled off again. When Kettlebent’s transport stopped once more, the vehicle sat outside of Fervis’s Auto-Cobblery and the only person who disembarked was Mr. Kettlebent with his odd lurching gate.

Sev only waited a moment before he slipped around the side and peered in the window. He gasped at the sight before him—an empty carriage. No phony foreman. No child slaves. Sev had been with them the entire time, and they hadn’t exited. Where were they?

His gasp had drawn the driver’s notice, who challenged him. “Oy,” the little man called in his squeaky voice. “What’re ye doin’ back there?” Worried, Sev dashed quickly from his perch to avoid the driver’s scrutiny, cursing himself for letting Kettlebent get away.

When he made it safely away from the carriage and the driver, he paused, panting heavily. What next? He decided his safest course of action at this point would be to slip away and hope the driver hadn’t made the connection between the two encounters.

Sev wandered the alleys of Blackside, his mind reeling.
None of this makes any sense
, he thought as he walked the cobbled streets among the factories. He was a block from Fervis’s when he decided to double back and see if Kettlebent remained. His heart pounded as he neared the Auto-Cobblery. If Fervis or any of his men caught Sev snooping around, they wouldn’t call the authorities. They’d mete out their own justice. His body probably wouldn’t even be found. He scrambled up the side of the building across the street. The roof offered a perfect view of the window in Fervis’s office on the second floor of the mansion attached to the factory. Sev could see Fervis’s big desk but no sign of the man or Kettlebent.

“Damn.” Sev slammed his fist on the edge of the roof. He’d decided to leave, convinced he’d missed the dark stranger, when Fervis appeared behind the desk. Sev ducked down when Kettlebent folded his strange frame into the chair across from Fervis. Sev didn’t know if he was visible to the men in the room, but he wasn’t taking any chances. Fervis produced a wooden case filled with cigars and offered it to Kettlebent, who waved them away. That didn’t stop Fervis from lighting one up. The two men spoke animatedly before Fervis stood and turned to the window with a sour look on his face, the eye Sev had ruined covered by a patch. Kettlebent held up a finger, and whatever the dark stranger said sent Fervis into a rage. Kettlebent jumped out of his seat, and Sev could tell that the two men were arguing, though he couldn’t hear their words.

Kettlebent slammed his fist onto Fervis’s desk, smashing the cigar box to splinters. Sev gasped at the strength behind that blow. The display gave Fervis pause as well. The weasel reached into his desk and produced a turret pistol that Sev recognized all too well. Kettlebent jabbed an accusing finger at the industrialist. Fervis kept the gun leveled at the dark man and pressed a red plunger on his desk. In no time, two large foremen appeared on either side of Kettlebent. They grabbed him, and he shrugged them off like they were clinging children before storming from the room. Fervis took a large puff on his cigar and returned the gun to its drawer as he waved his men out.

Sev shook his head, turning away from the edge of the roof. Far from answering his questions, the little scene he’d just witnessed only complicated things. If these men were working together to traffic child slaves, why were they fighting now?
Money, probably
, Sev thought. Fervis, Kettlebent, Pointy Beard, and Madame Beauchamps: it seemed to Sev that all the adults in Blackside were in league, committing some atrocity against the youth population. The young man sat on the cold roof alone with his confused thoughts, trying to decide what his next move would be.

A
FEW
hours later, Sev strolled along Cheapside, pretending to browse the booths and stalls as he tried to unravel the mystery of Kettlebent. Eventually someone calling out to him in French interrupted his aimless wandering. Sev glanced up to see Monty looking very pleased and waving him over. Although in no mood to talk to anyone until he could wrap his mind around recent events, Sev admitted he was curious.

He lifted his hand as he crossed the street, avoiding a passing carriage harnessed to living horses. “Afternoon, Monty,” Sev said, raising his voice over the loud clopping of hooves. “Have ye found somethin’?” Monty responded with a silent nod. The little French peddler was visibly shaking with excitement. “What, Monty? What is it?”

“Voilà.” Monty peeled back a small bit of soiled cloth to reveal the skeleton of a very unique pistol.

“How’d ye manage t’get yer hands on this, mate?” Sev’s eyes grew wide. He wanted desperately to touch the small device.

“It was luck, mon ami. I had parked my cart near zhe Line, and I heard a commotion.” Sev traced the long copper barrel, which ended in an odd metal fork where the bullets would usually emerge. The workmanship was delicate and strange. He studied the pieces as Monty continued to talk. “When I looked out zhe window, I saw three Blacksiders menacing a meandering gentleman. He appeared to be a little tipsy.” An odd, broken glass bulb replaced the chamber where the rounds would be loaded. The grip was molded rubber. Sev had never seen anything like it. “I zhought zhe man would be overcome within an instant, but he pulled out zhis device. Zhe bulb here,” Monty said and pointed at the broken glass. “It was sparking inside. Like zhe lightning.”

“What?” Sev asked, astonished.

“I know, Monsieur Sept. I know. I could not believe my eyes. His attackers were just as surprised. And zhen he started to turn zhis crank.” Monty flipped the gun to reveal a small handle attached to a gear that appeared to turn something in a copper tube running through the center of the glass bulb. “Zhe bulb grew brighter and zhen lightning erupted from zhe fork and one of zhe men fell to zhe ground.”

“A lightning gun?” Sev breathed the words.

“It would appear zhat way,” Monty answered. “But zhe bulb grew dark after zhat, and zhe other two men attacked. Zhe gun was knocked from his hand, where it broke on zhe street. You know how zhese things go.” Sev nodded. He knew. Monty glanced around to make sure their discussion remained unobserved.

“Someone pulled out a knife,” Sev finished for the Frenchman. “They took his valuables and left the gentleman fer dead.”

“Oui,” Monty agreed. “Zhey left zhe gun because it was broken. Zhe gentleman and his attacker were both dead. I didn’t think he would need his gun. Zhen I moved my cart.”

“Wise decision,” Sev agreed. “What’s this?” Sev pointed to a small rod on the back of the gun above the grip, where the hammer should be.

Monty shrugged. “Truly, I do not know. But look.” Monty pulled on the rod, revealing a thin copper wire trailing into the barrel. When Monty released the rod, the wire automatically retracted, pulling the rod back into its channel. “Amazing, non?”

“Did ye search the dead fella?”

“Oui, no way to know who zhe man was.”

“Damn,” Sev growled. “Ye think the man who carried it invented it?”

Monty shrugged again. “C’est possible.”

“Ye think ye can fix it?”

“Non,” the Frenchman answered, shaking his head. “Zhis is well beyond me.”

“Someone has t’know somethin’ about it.” Sev spoke more to himself than the peddler. He was surprised when Monty’s finger snapped up to his lips. The Frenchman nodded to Sev’s left. Sev turned to see a small, filthy child standing just behind him. “What’s this, then?” he asked the urchin.

“Oy, mate,” the child growled. “You Seven?”

“Never heard of ’im. Who’s askin’?”

“Jack Midnight,” the little blighter spat. Sev and Monty stared at one another in obvious disbelief. “Good. I got yer attention. The Prince o’ Blackside wants t’speak wif ye.”

Sev regained his composure. “What’s Midnight want with Seven?”

“Got a job fer ’im, don’t he?” The urchin squinted his dirty little eyes.

“When an’ where?” Sev asked. The urchin laughed at Sev’s question. “What?”

“Ye don’t know where the Prince lives?”

“I do,” Sev had to admit. Everyone in Blackside knew.

“As fer when….” The urchin turned on his heel and stalked away. “When d’ye think?” he called over his shoulder. Sev and Monty watched the dirty bugger’s exit.

“Midnight, o’course,” Sev chuckled. “Looks like I got an appointment with royalty.”

“Better you zhan me, mon ami,” Monty sighed. “Do you want zhe gun?” Good old, Monty. Business first.

“I do, Monty,” Sev confirmed. “But I’m tapped. I got nothin’.”

Monty raised an eyebrow. “Oui,” the little man agreed. “But it seems to me you are about to come into some money.” Monty nodded toward the center of Blackside. “I think you are good for it, non?” Sev shrugged, hoping Midnight’s offer was authentic, and it wasn’t some sort of trap. Monty wrapped the pieces of the weapon in the cloth and handed it over to Sev. “Good luck, mon ami.”

“Thanks, Monty.” Sev took the bundle and stowed it in his satchel. “Here’s hopin’ I don’t need it.” Sev turned from the French peddler’s cart. He had some time to kill until midnight, and something had occurred to him at the sight of the urchin that he wanted to share with someone else, to see if his suspicions were valid.

W
AVERLY
had finished his shift for the evening, and when Sev entered the Bacchus and Tun, his young friend sat at a table in the corner with a couple of the neighborhood working girls, who were not as healthy or as well fed as Annie. Wave sometimes bought them food, more often gin, in exchange for a quick roll. They’d obviously all been at the drink for some time when Sev sidled up to the table. “This seat taken?” he asked.

Wave brightened at the sight of his old friend. “Se—” Waverly began before he caught himself and covered. “Sam! Come on. Sit with us. Have a nip.”

“Thanks, Wave.” Sev sat at the table. Waverly offered the bottle of gin, but Sev declined. “Can’t, mate. Got a job meetin’ this evenin’.”

“Tha’s too bad,” one of the girls said. The brunette smiled at Sev. Her teeth were almost as black as her hair.

“Sam, this is Fanny and Patty,” Waverly said, saluting each with his shooter of gin.

“Pleased, ladies.” Sev tipped his hat, eliciting giggles from the girls.

“What a gentleman,” Fanny, the blonde girl, observed. Her thick Blackside accent made the words sound like
Wottagennlemin
.

“Not at all, mum,” Sev replied.

“I likes y’even more, then,” Patty, the brunette, added and both girls laughed.

“So what’s this meetin’?” Waverly asked.

“I need t’see a man at
Midnight
.” Sev leveled his gaze on Waverly, who suddenly aspirated gin.

“Girls, give us a minute. Will ye?” Waverly motioned them away. They stood without argument, used to obeying orders, but made sure to take the bottle of gin as they wandered to another table. “Midnight? Y’mean Jack Midnight?” Waverly asked when they were alone. Sev nodded. “What’s ’e want with you?”

“No clue.” Sev shrugged. “That’s not why I’m here, though.”

“What’s bigger than a meet with th’Prince?”

“He sent a kid with his message.”

“So? Everybody uses street kids fer messengers.”

“They did,” Sev agreed. “How many street kids d’ye see anymore?”

“I don’t know,” Wave answered.

“The gangs’re gone too,” Sev whispered as he leaned over the table. Ever since Fervis and the other industrialists started abducting children to work in their factories, any orphans or street kids migrated into gangs and groups to make sure they couldn’t be taken by the press-gangers and forced into the factories. “Think about it, Wave.” Sev watched as Waverly screwed up his face.

“Ye’re right, Sev,” he agreed. “I haven’t seen any of the old Stickers around lately.” Sev nodded. They called them Stickers because of the large sticks and cudgels the children carried to rob people and protect themselves. “Y’know,” Waverly offered, “now that ye mention it, I’ve been overhearin’ some o’the foremen talkin’ lately. There’s kids disappearin’ from the sweatshops.”

“What?” Sev blurted. This was news to him, and he made a point to help the kids in those factories. “How could I’ve not heard about this?”

“I don’t know,” Waverly admitted. “But that’s what I’ve heard. Kids disappearin’ in the middle o’the night. Nothin’ obvious and never in large numbers, but here and there.”

“I know over the years they’d lose a kid once in a while,” Sev mentioned.

“Aye, me too. But lately, it’s been more frequent.” Sev listened to Waverly’s words and thought about the line of children marching out of Beauchamps’s. He debated whether he should tell his friend what he’d seen. He decided to tell Waverly everything that had taken place over the last few weeks. Waverly whistled. “That is peculiar,” Wave agreed. “What’re y’goin’ t’do?”