The 7th of London (9 page)

“Aye, that he did,” Sev agreed.

“Don’t just stand there, Seven.” Jack folded the paper, laying it on the table. “Sit down. Eat. You’ll need your strength.” Jack spread his napkin across his lap and tucked politely into his meal. Sev stood for a moment longer, unsure how to proceed. “It’s delicious. My man, Xiang, is a fantastic cook. He takes care of all my domestic concerns.” Midnight pronounced the Chinaman’s name like
chiang
. Sev pulled out the chair next to the second place setting. Sev tipped a sample from every platter onto his plate. The table was piled with sausages, eggs, bacon, ham, fat slabs of toast, and an entire haddock. Sev smeared butter from a ceramic tub onto a piece of toast and used the crisp bread as a makeshift utensil to shovel the food into his mouth, much less politely than the villain next to him.

Jack smirked as he dabbed at his mouth with his napkin, pushing away his empty plate while Sev dished out a second helping. “I’m glad you found your appetite.” Sev couldn’t answer with his mouth full of food, but he offered an affirming grunt. “Obviously your table manners will need some work,” Jack chuckled, only half joking. Sev shot Midnight a sour glance. “We’re going to get you a serving position in the palace. You’ll need to be taught how to act properly, politely. You’ve a reputation for a hot temper when it comes to dealing with figures of authority. Do you think you’ll be able to control yourself for the sake of the job?”

“O’course,” Sev answered after swallowing. “I won’t be really takin’ their garbage, just pretendin’ to.”

Jack barked a satisfied laugh. “Well said, Seven. Well said, indeed.” Midnight sat forward. “How old are you, Sev?”

“Not sure,” Sev answered, shrugging. “I can’t be more’n fifteen, but I can’t remember my birthday. Fervis never let us celebrate.”

“Hm,” Jack said. “I would have guessed as much. But with a good shave you won’t look a day over twelve.”

“Waverly always gave me grief over my baby face,” Sev agreed, nodding. “It’s a curse.”

“And a gift,” Jack amended. “The Fairsies will be more apt to purchase your contract if they think you’re just a child.”

“Purchase my contract?” Sev asked. Before Jack could answer, a small, olive-skinned man, with sleek black hair pulled into a braid that almost brushed the ground when he walked, entered the room with a large tray. He placed an ornate silver kettle, two cups, and a couple of covered bowls on the table before he gathered the dirty plates and partially empty platters. Without a word, the tiny man in the silk robe disappeared.

“Thank you, Xiang,” Jack called to the man’s back. “Coffee?” He held up the kettle to Sev, who shrugged and nodded. Jack poured the steaming black liquid into Sev’s cup. “Purchasing a contract is just a polite way to say ‘acquiring slaves’.”

“Slavery?” Sev sipped at the dark liquid and pulled a face.

“Cream and sugar will make it less abrasive.” Jack chuckled, indicating the little silver bowls. Sev poured cream into his cup and watched as the white liquid bloomed in the black. Then he spooned some sugar in as well. His next sip was much more pleasant.

Midnight smiled as Sev drank. “They don’t call it slavery. They refer to it as ‘contractual servitude’,” the villain explained.

“Is that what I saw that day at Beauchamps’s? The line o’children?” Sev asked.

“I very much doubt that, Seven,” Midnight answered, sipping his own coffee. The liquid remained black. “I’ve known Bernadette for some time. We’ve worked together. Her girls aren’t slaves, and she wouldn’t promote others being sold into slavery.” Sev shrugged, unconvinced. “Bernie’s business practices are beside the point. We need to discuss your preparations.”

“Charm school,” Sev added, smirking.

“In a manner of speaking,” Jack agreed. “You will also need to learn to defend yourself.”

“What?” Sev barked, indignantly. “I can take care o’meself!”

“You’re a bruiser, my friend, and no mistake,” Jack stated smoothly. “But there are more refined, efficient ways of fighting. You’re good, but you can be better.”

Sev couldn’t argue with that, remembering Midnight’s display a few nights ago. “Fair enough. Anythin’ else?”

“You’ll need to learn the layout of the palace, escape routes.” Jack ticked off on his fingers. “Can you read?” Jack suddenly asked.

“Aye,” Sev answered. “Not very well, but enough.”

Jack nodded. “You’ll have to keep that a secret.”

“What else?” Sev asked. Jack sat in silence. Sev could tell Midnight was mulling something over. “Just tell me, Jack. I can take it.”

“Can you, Sev?”

“Aye.”

Jack sighed. “Killing may be unavoidable. Can you do it silently?” Sev tried to suppress his shock. “Can you kill at all?” Sev drained the last of his coffee. The liquid was tepid, and he shuddered at the dregs. “Sev?”

“I’ll do what needs t’be done,” Sev answered. Jack studied his face. “If there’s no other way,” Sev added.

Jack nodded. “Silently?” Midnight pressed. Sev scowled but nodded slowly. The villain studied Sev, who sat resolute. “Good.” Jack finished his own coffee. “Let’s get started.”

S
EV
spent the next two weeks training intensively, manners and behavioral study in the mornings, while his afternoons were filled with physical and combat workouts. Midnight taught Sev the ins and outs of society life, how to talk, what to say, and when to speak, while Jack’s man, Xiang gave Sev a crash course in all things domestic—cooking, cleaning, serving, and what would be expected of him. Jack delighted in showing Sev new and inventive ways to incapacitate people, eventually instructing the young man on how to utilize whatever was close at hand to permanently deal with an attacker: knives, forks, serving trays, and even shoelaces. Sev was constantly surprised by Jack’s ingenuity and seemingly endless well of depravity, especially because Jack could be so proper, warm, and polite. It was like Midnight was two people sometimes.

Xiang helped in the afternoon as well, teaching Sev how to fight without weapons. The Chinaman called it
wushu
. The fighting style was fast and efficient. Sev was surprised numerous times when the smaller man used Sev’s own momentum against him, tossing him around like a rag doll. By the third day, Xiang had been pleased enough with Sev’s progress to invite one of Midnight’s large doormen to spar with his student. Sev incorporated what he’d learned to wipe the practice mat with the bigger man.

O
N
THE
fourth day, after Jack’s charm lesson, Rat appeared with a man sporting a leather apron and an elaborate mustache. “Here’s yer man, Yer Nibs,” the urchin announced. Sev smirked, his prior suspicion confirmed.

“Mr. Garrison,” Jack greeted the man. “I’m glad you could join us. Are you prepared?”

“Aye, but ye’re a week early, sir,” the man said, showing a row of rotten teeth.

“Not me, Mr. Garrison. You are here for my friend,” Jack explained, indicating Sev.

“Let’s us get t’work then, eh?” Garrison stated, producing a straight razor from a pouch on his belt. Sev saw the flash of silver and realized Jack had arranged this test. Sev sprang immediately, grabbing a boiled potato and tossing it at his would-be attacker. The razor was knocked from the man’s hand. Sev caught the weapon in midair and kicked Garrison’s chest, forcing the man to the ground. Sev knelt over him holding the polished metal blade to the man’s throat.

Jack laughed and clapped. “Well done!” he exclaimed.

“Blimey, what’re ye thinkin’?” Rat interjected.

“What?” Sev asked. “Wasn’t this a test?”

“No,” Jack replied, smirking. “Mr. Garrison is a barber. He’s here to trim that unruly mop of yours.” Sev looked down at Garrison, who nodded apprehensively.

“Ah,” Sev said. “I see.” He removed the razor from the barber’s throat. “My apologies, Mr. Garrison.” Sev stood, offered the man his hand, and helped him off the floor. “Here’s yer blade, sir.” Sev handed the razor back to its owner.

“Thank ye, son.” Garrison accepted the tool, rubbing his recently threatened neck.

“That was delightful,” Jack chuckled, slapping Sev on the back.

“Sorry, Jack.” Sev dropped his head. “Sorry, Mr. Garrison.”

“Don’t be,” Midnight countered. “That little display proves our efforts are working.” Sev shrugged as Midnight guided him to a chair. “Mr. Garrison?”

“Relax, friend,” Garrison told Sev. “I’m just goin’ t’give ye a trim.” Sev winced as Garrison went to work, but the barber only did as he’d claimed. Sev relaxed as the man cut his hair, and Midnight continued to chuckle.

A
FEW
nights later, Sev awoke to the chiming of Midnight’s doorbells. Yawning, Sev swung his legs out of bed and shuffled to the bathroom. When he’d finished his business and reentered the hallway, he heard raised voices and scratched at his newly trimmed locks. Sev looked toward the stairs and decided to return to bed. Just before he closed the door to his room, Sev recognized the grainy, metal tone of Kettlebent’s voice.

Sev suddenly found himself wide awake and irrationally angry. How could Midnight be meeting with Kettlebent and not have told him? Midnight had warned Sev to stay out of his business early on in their partnership, and until tonight Sev had honored that, but there was no way he wasn’t going to see what Midnight had to do with Kettlebent. Sev crept silently down the stairs, sidestepping the squeaky one, and peered around the corner. His blood turned to ice when he saw not only Kettlebent looming in the common room but Pointy Beard as well.
What the hell is Midnight playing at
? Sev wondered. Midnight conversed easily with the two men as he ushered them into his private office.

Sev stalked past Midnight’s throne. “Oy.” A gravelly whisper stopped him in his tracks.

“Rat?” Sev whispered.

“What’re ye snoopin’ around for?” Rat asked as he approached Sev.

“I heard Kettlebent. What’re
you
hangin’ about for?”

“It’s cold out there,” Rat grumbled.

“What’s Midnight doin’ associatin’ with Fairgate and his pet strong-arm?”

“His Nibs’s business is his own. Ye’d best remember that.” Sev opened his mouth to respond, but the doorknob on Midnight’s office rattled. The two young men regarded each other with wide eyes. Sev grabbed Rat by the collar and drew him into the stairwell. They watched as Midnight reemerged with Fairgate.

“We’ll be right back, Mr. Kettlebent. Fix yourself a drink,” Midnight called into his office before shutting the door. As soon as the latch clicked, Midnight’s posture relaxed. “It’s good to see you, Will,” Midnight purred and crossed to his guest, tracing a finger down the man’s shoulder.
Will?
Sev thought.

“Jonathan,” Fairgate scolded.

“Oh, don’t ‘Jonathan’ me,” Midnight crooned. “Kettlebent doesn’t suspect anything.”

“Don’t underestimate Kettlebent,” Fairgate answered. “He’s sharper than you give him credit for.”

“Fine.” Midnight rolled his eyes. “I heard you moved some ‘supplies’ from Beauchamps’s a few weeks ago.” Midnight flopped into his throne.

“We did.” Fairgate walked to Midnight’s side and dropped to the arm of the chair, allowing Jack to rub his back.

“You’re tense,” Midnight observed. “Anything wrong?”

“Just the usual, Jonathan.” Fairgate reached out and gripped Midnight’s lapel. The two men drew together. Sev bit his finger to choke his shock.

“I hate this thing,” Midnight stated, touching Fairgate’s beard.

“It’s a necessary deception,” Fairgate whispered, leaning closer to Midnight. Before a connection occurred, Kettlebent emerged from the office and the men sitting on the throne jumped suddenly apart. “Mr. Kettlebent?” Fairgate gasped.

“Sir,” Kettlebent growled mechanically. “We’ve brought Midnight the documents. We should return you to Fairside.”

“Thank you, Kettlebent.” Fairgate stood, smoothing out his costume of lower-class garments. “We should be on our way, Mr. Midnight.” Fairgate’s tone turned proper and stiff.

“On your way, then,” Midnight dismissed the pair, waving them away without rising from his seat. Kettlebent stalked out the entryway. Fairgate lingered. “Something else?” Midnight smirked.

“Good evening, Mr. Midnight,” Fairgate stated, too properly.

“Don’t be a stranger, Will.” Midnight pretended to be unperturbed. The doors closed and Midnight sat alone in silence.

“What in th’name o’Jaysus was that?” Sev shouted, dashing from his place on the stairs.

“Seven?” Midnight barked. Rat slipped out while Midnight was distracted by Sev. “Stop right there, Rat.” Midnight pointed at the urchin. “You too?”

“No, sire,” Rat held up his hands in surrender. “He grabbed me. I just wanted out o’here.”

“Go,” Midnight responded. Rat obeyed, disappearing. “That,” Midnight said, turning back to Sev, “that was the man who got us the layout of the palace.” Midnight stood and motioned for Sev to follow him into his office.

“Fairgate?” Sev asked, incredulously.

“Fairgate?” Jack echoed. “That wasn’t Fairgate.”

“The beard!” Sev accused.