The 7th of London (6 page)

“T’be honest?” Sev answered. “I got no idea. But somethin’ sure isn’t right around Blackside.”

“I can’t believe Beauchamps is in on it,” Waverly said, shaking his head.

“Neither could I,” Sev agreed.

“Everybody loves her,” Waverly stated, sobering up.

“I know.” Sev’s hand slipped onto his satchel, and he remembered the gun. He wondered if Waverly would know anything about it. “Wave,” he whispered, deciding to trust his old friend completely. “Ever seen anythin’ like this?” Sev produced the bundle and showed his companion the contents. Wave’s eyes grew wide like Sev’s had, and the pub hand shook his head. Sev hadn’t really expected him to.

“I haven’t, but you know who might?” Wave asked. Sev shook his head. “Old Carrington.” Sev almost slapped his forehead. How could he have forgotten about Carrington? The old guy used to be one of the Ministry of Invention’s top minds. Lucius Carrington had been the driving force behind some of the Ministry’s most successful advancements, chief among them the auto-carriages. When the queen’s interests began opposing the poor, Carrington’s vocal objections and ideas that favored the working class were at first shunned and then denounced as treason. Fairgate had attempted to reason with the man, to give him one final chance to see sense and avoid punishment, but Carrington refused to cooperate and insulted the queen’s wizard, giving the crown no other choice. When the Coal-Eaters stormed Carrington’s laboratory to arrest the inventor, he and all his work were gone.

“Well, aye, Carrington, but no one’s seen him in years,” Sev acknowledged.

“Good point,” Waverly admitted. “What will you do?” The clock on the wall struck eleven.

“First things first.” Sev stood. “I’ve got t’see Jack Midnight.”

S
EV
trudged silently along the cold, mostly deserted streets of Blackside toward the most notorious building in Spitalfields. Midnight’s home and office resided in the former Christ Church on Commercial Street. There were hundreds of rumors about how a known felon and scoundrel was able to acquire the premises, and each was just as preposterous as the next. Sev’s favorite story included a deal with the devil in which Jack Midnight outsmarted God himself. Even now, Sev smiled at the thought. The true stories were the ones that made Sev shudder. No one called it Christ Church any longer, though. Now everyone referred to it as the Church of Midnight, and Jack accepted worshippers of every faith as long as they were willing to act on his orders without question.

Sev had worked a few jobs with Midnight’s men but had never been summoned to meet with the man himself. Few had. Midnight kept a very tight crew of trusted lieutenants and kept everyone else at arm’s length so nothing could be traced back to him. The criminal had his hands in every facet of illegal activities, and rumors even existed that the majority of criminals in England paid Midnight a small stipend to watch out for them.

The steeple of Midnight’s home stabbed skyward, and Sev regarded it, though he remained blocks away from the building. Sev had heard Midnight turned his back on aristocratic society to build his criminal empire before he was more than a teenager. He’d also heard that Midnight often liberated children from the workhouses and factories, giving them jobs in his organization and watching out for them. After all the dishonesty he’d witnessed lately, Sev wondered if any of it was true. Adults held a very low position on his list of people he could trust and no matter what the man used to be, Jack Midnight was too old to be trustworthy.

The polished ebony doors of the Church of Midnight reflected the soft glow of the gas lamps around them. Sev sat in the shadows cast by those lights, debating how best to approach. He waited in the alley across the street, looking at the majestic lines of Jack’s black chapel. Whatever the stories said, they agreed on one point—Jack and another man had wanted the building. In 1850 when that man died, Jack acquired the structure and completely redesigned the church with the help of the architect Ewan Christian and, rumor had it, the inventor Carrington. Sev wondered what the inside would be like as he decided to face this meeting head-on. He stepped across the street and ascended the steps to those polished black doors, acting braver than he felt.

Two men stepped from the shadows on either side to impede Sev’s progress. Sev slowly removed his hands from his pockets to show that he meant no harm. “I’m here t’see Mr. Midnight,” Sev stated. “He sent fer me.”

“Settle down, fellas,” a gravelly, young voice interrupted. “Gave the mick the message meself.”

“If y’say so, Rat,” the big man on the left answered, though he didn’t lower his musket.

“I say so,” Rat answered. “C’mon, kid.” Sev was almost amused at the dirty little urchin referring to him as a kid when Sev was obviously years the boy’s senior. Sev didn’t say anything, only followed Rat into Midnight’s home.

Sev had no idea what to expect, but it wasn’t what awaited him within. He’d been in a church once, and this looked nothing like that had. He found himself in a small, well-appointed anteroom with lush couches and beautiful furnishings. Two delicately carved mahogany doors stood opposite the entrance, and Rat opened one. “Wait ’ere,” he told Sev and disappeared. Alone, Sev walked about, observing the shelves that lined the walls. Some of the baubles looked like they might have been boosted from the queen’s own collection, while others were intricate clockworks. He poked at something that looked like a bronze Egyptian beetle. At Sev’s touch, the device clicked to life, whirring. The beetle construct walked around its display base before its metallic wings started beating and the machine lifted into the air. Then it landed, folded its wings, and remained still. Sev whistled at the advanced clockwork. He saw what looked like a copper bat hanging upside down from a metal branch and walked toward it curiously.

“Oy,” Rat barked as he reappeared. “Mr. Midnight’ll see ye now.” Sev glanced at the motionless clockwork before reluctantly following Rat through the doors to Midnight’s chambers.

As the pair emerged into the next room, the space opened considerably. The ceiling was impossibly high, and Sev stretched his neck to take it all in. Rat led Sev up a center aisle that must have separated rows of pews at one time, but those were gone, the areas on both sides now filled with home furnishings. On the left were beautifully stuffed and carved couches, expensive tables, and cozy fireplaces to form a massive sitting room, while on the right was a long line of majestically polished tables, with scores of finely carved chairs beneath amazingly delicate chandeliers in what was obviously a dining room. All the walls were decorated with paintings of beautiful, half-naked, androgynous figures cavorting in twilight woods, like faeries in a children’s story. Sev wondered why Midnight would have such elaborate facilities for entertainment when everything Sev had heard suggested Midnight allowed few access to his inner sanctum. Perhaps he had aspirations to one day rejoin high society, although Sev doubted that very much.

When Sev managed to tear his eyes away from the decadence, he looked to the front of the room, where an altar for services should reside. Instead there was an elaborate black throne beneath an equally elaborate painting where the image of Christ should hang. In the throne sat a lithe, exquisitely dressed young man. The suit was finely tailored, though the articles fit more snugly than was dictated by and accepted in general society. Sev would guess he was barely twenty. The smiling youth had delicate features and held a glass of dark liquid, but not as dark as the clothes he wore, nor as dark as his shockingly black hair combed forward in a wave that almost concealed his left eye. As Sev approached, he could see the beautiful man wore dark, dusky eye makeup.

Sev sighed, relieved. He had no idea who this odd creature was, but there was no way this was the infamous, deadly criminal, Jack Midnight. That fact made Sev breathe easier, knowing he’d only have to meet with this liaison and not the man himself. Sev removed his hat, at any rate, as he ascended the steps of the dais behind Rat.

“This is ’im,” Rat said by way of introduction.

“Thank you, Rat.” The young man waved the urchin away. “That will be all.” Rat bobbed his head and dashed dutifully away. The man in the throne smirked at Sev but said nothing. The silence stretched, and finally at ease, Sev looked around at all the expensive decoration of the room. He could still almost see the churchy bits, but the religious had been nearly obliterated by the decadent. “So.” The man spoke, drawing Sev’s attention. “The Seventh of London. I have to admit, it is an honor.”

“Excuse me?” Sev asked.

“You’re the legendary Seventh of London,” the fancy stranger answered. “The seventh sibling, with the courage to stand up to his slaver.”

“Well, sir,” Sev answered, shuffling his feet, “I don’t know about that.”

“I do.” The young man in the throne sat up. “Wine?” He raised his goblet. Sev considered it and shrugged. The stranger poured another goblet of the dark liquid and offered it to Sev, who accepted. Sev sniffed at the glass, wincing. The liquid smelled potent, like chocolate and leather. He sipped it and was surprised at the numerous flavors. Heat filled his limbs at his next gulp. “Well done, Mr. Seven,” the man laughed.

“Ye seem t’know a great deal about me. Might I have the pleasure of yer introduction, sir?” Sev took another delightful mouthful of the dark liquid.

“Jonathan Middlenight.” The man held out his hand. “Jack Midnight to my friends… and enemies.” Sev choked on the wine, the liquid crawling up the back of his throat into his nostrils. He coughed and wiped his nose with the hand not holding the goblet. “Are you all right, Mr. Seven?” Midnight asked, leaning forward.

“Ye’re not what I expected,” Sev answered honestly and cleared his throat.

“Yes, I get that a lot.” Midnight stood and paced to the edge of the dais.

“Why’d ye call me ‘the Seventh of London’?” Sev asked.

“That’s what the orphans call you.” Midnight turned, his opal eyes sparkling. “You’re something of a hero to the children of Blackside.”

“That’s mad.” Sev chuckled.

“Do you really think so? I’m not so sure.” Midnight shrugged and continued to study his guest.

“What d’ye want from me?”

“I understand you’re something of a shadow. The people who speak of you, and believe me, you’re almost as much of a mystery as I am, but the ones who do, tell me you can slip in and out of places completely unnoticed. Like a whisper.”

Sev considered the man’s words, proud but cautious. “And what if I am?”

“Then I would tell you of a task I need accomplished by someone of your unique qualifications.”

“I’m listenin’.” Sev leveled his gaze on the crime boss. Midnight smiled with a feline satisfaction and raised his drink in salute.

M
IDNIGHT
ushered Sev into a smaller, simpler parlor. The criminal moved to a sideboard stocked with various bottles of a variety of colored liquids. He chose another bottle of wine and refreshed their drinks. “I have a very special job for you, Mr. Seven.” Midnight motioned to a chair, and Sev sat. Midnight took the seat across from his guest and leaned back, crossing his legs. He sipped his wine but said nothing. Sev held his goblet but didn’t drink, only waited for Midnight to speak. “You are a puzzle to me, Seven. That’s unusual.”

“My apologies, Mr. Midnight.”

“No,” Jack answered, smirking and waving off the apology. “It’s delightful. A novelty.” He sipped his wine once more as Sev placed his untouched goblet on the table next to his chair.

“Ye didn’t call me here t’drink wine,” Sev observed.

“I did not,” Midnight agreed. “As I said, I have need of your special skills.”

“Go on.”

“Are you familiar with Sir Barrymore Fairgate?” Sev nodded. Fairgate had been knighted during the Crimean War. He was a self-professed wizard and one of his spells, along with Wrathsbury’s Patented Clockwork Gear Suits—the predecessors of the current Steam-Powered versions—had turned the tides. Fairgate had been the queen’s favorite at court ever since. The wizard had helped her through Albert’s death, and they’d recently announced their engagement. “I have reason to believe he’s adversely influencing our queen.”

“And?” Sev snorted.

Midnight jumped from his seat, suddenly furious. “And?” he roared. “Are you happy with the state of society? Do you think this bisection of our city is acceptable? Do you have any idea how much more difficult it is to ply my trade in Fairside with that damn Line to cross?”

“I don’t know,” Sev answered honestly. “But I’m sure ye find ways around the Line.”

“Of course,” Midnight answered, his feline smile returning. “Though it remains more trouble than it’s worth. Not to mention, magic is cheating. I’ve met Fairgate. He doesn’t deserve the queen’s favor.”

“Are ye jealous?” Sev asked before he could stop himself.

Midnight tossed his goblet into the fire, shattering the glass, the wine sizzling. “I’ve worked me arse off t’get where I am, Seven! It in’t jealously! It’s justice!” Sev noted the low-class accent surface with his host’s agitation. He must have been among the criminal element for a very long time. Midnight took a deep breath and composed himself, his more refined accent returning. Sev wondered which accent revealed the true Jack Midnight. “At any rate, the wizard is a poxy bastard.”

“I still don’t understand,” Sev admitted. “Who cares? If the queen is stupid enough to fall for it, why do
you
care?”

Midnight smirked. “Call me a hopeless romantic,” he answered. “I don’t think it’s right. He’s using her and, through her, us.”

“How do ye know?”

“Honestly? I don’t. I only have suspicions.” Midnight paced the parlor. “That’s where you come in, Mr. Seven.”

“Me?”

“I need you to bring me Fairgate’s journal.”

Sev laughed despite himself. “How the hell d’ye expect me t’do that?”

“I can get you into the palace. After that it’s up to you.”

“That’s bloody madness,” Sev stated. “Look at me.”

“I’m Jack Midnight, Prince of Blackside. I can get you into the palace unnoticed. Believe it.”