We live, despite the best efforts of scientists and philosophers, in a world of consequences.
At times, it is not such a burden. The consequences of good actions are often pleasant. Work can yield prosperity, study can yield wisdom, and perseverance can yield success. It is also quite gratifying to see the consequences for bad decisions—in others more than ourselves, of course—and know that we are secure in our more profitable choices.
However, there are always choices which are good, but have painful consequences—these we often call sacrifice. Evil of course, seeks to profit from the sacrifices of others, inflicting the costs of their choices on those who are too unsuspecting or naïve to avoid them. There waits just as painful a consequence for those who take that path—we call it, with relish, justice. Though the pain of either can be very much alike, the discerning mind can see the difference. The consequences of selflessness—or of selfishness—can separate hero and coward, king and knave. There is a power in consequence that allows us to strive, to be more than what we were before.
Yet always there has been a lure, to many, to circumvent these natural consequences, to gain strength without the sacrifice, or take shortcuts without the inevitable just deserts. It was that thirst, the insatiable desire for power without consequences, that led society to so fully embrace the power of the Distillation. The charm of heat and electricity, industry and advancement, all at seemingly no cost, drew untold millions into the crystal’s thrall. We discovered, to our chagrin, that consequences waited for us there as well. The Change moved upon humanity and left chaos in its wake.
My own life has been marked by choices and the consequences thereof. It was my desire to seek my fortune that led me from my family home to London. Another choice, and its attendant consequence, left my friends forever Changed through the power of the Distillation while I was left behind untouched. Still other consequences shaped my course throughout the years as I sought purpose, prosperity, meaning.
It was consequence—perhaps even justice, I must admit—that led to the disaster at the Everston Academy of Ethereal Sciences. I had made my choices, and secure in the supposed demise of Rook and his compatriots, I had assumed the threat to the Academy all but finished. The consequence brought fire and destruction to a school filled with children already marked by the Change, and nearly resulted in my premature demise as well. Only by a few last desperate struggles had I avoided that fate, though the memories of that fiery ordeal will stay with me forever.
As a result of my foolishness, the plotter behind the events of that terrible afternoon escaped justice, and caused misery to those I had been employed to protect. His machinations yielded a bountiful harvest of fame, prosperity, and progress. Already his was a household name, associated with heroism and bravery. A daring defender of Changling rights, he quickly climbed the social strata of our time, and became a true force to be reckoned with in Parliament.
Yet justice, though oft delayed by fortune and fools both, will never truly be denied. For on that day, I discovered the identity of that criminal and knew him for what he truly was. And consequence, one misty morning in November, brought him directly to my door.
The morning had been unexpectedly chilly for a London fall, and I had chosen to stay inside for a good part of the day to arrange my affairs. My moderate success some four months earlier had improved my finances to the point where I was no longer bankrupt, and Patricia’s contacts had sufficiently helped repair the damage my small quarters had suffered during Rook’s invasion. It was fortunate that I had been able to provide the funds, for the work had not come cheap, and my landlord had told me quite plainly that he held me responsible for every scrape and dent. Had I not been able to make the repairs, I would have needed to search for a new home rather urgently.
Unfortunately, my funds from Lord Pevensley had not proved limitless. The Academy, with its almost complete destruction, had understandably refused to compensate me for my efforts, and the following months had obliged me to seek employment from the usual sources. These had been augmented by the recommendations of the Pevensley clan, who had proved quite willing and able to supply me with a steady stream of profitable, if aggravating, tasks. It was the resolution of three of those tasks—a simple background check on a new footman, the recovery of a trade contract, and finding the address and usual haunts of an eligible suitor for a friend of the family—which now occupied my time.
I was eager to dispose of these petty chores, for they would provide me with the funds I would need to more fully pursue my own, private efforts toward a wholly different goal. It was not an investigation I had been paid for—indeed, even had someone offered me compensation, I likely would have done the work for free. My dedication to the cause, however, would neither pay my landlord nor fill my pantry, and so I was obligated to wallow in the mess left by the Pevensleys for the time being.
It was as I recorded the daily routine of the unsuspecting groom-to-be that I heard a knock at my door. I looked up from my notes and the map I had been marking, hesitating as my sense of duty and my innate curiosity struggled with one another. The knock came a second time, a simple, direct rap of knuckles upon the wood of the portal, and I was decided. Pushing away my work for a moment, I stood and made my way to the entrance.
As I left my office, I made sure to collect both Patricia’s brass knuckles and my cane, both of which had been recovered and repaired by Daniel in the previous months. One cannot, after all, be too careful. Rook’s assault upon my home had proved that much. Concealing the knuckles about my person, I reached for the handle and pulled the door open enough for me to see who waited on the other side.
Lord Devonshire, his eyes hard and bright as diamonds, looked back at me.
He wore a plain beige suit, attire that could nearly have allowed him to pass for a man of humble origins had its tailoring not been so exquisite. The hat upon his head was also nondescript, though it showed very little sign of wear and could have been fresh from the hatter’s shop. His cane was likewise plain and without ornamentation, though I could only guess at the mechanisms and devices it might contain. I noted that his expression was not the reptilian stare that occasionally revealed his inner nature, but the open, pleasant smile of a friend whose path had crossed with a fond acquaintance.
Lord Devonshire had come alone; the mists around my front step did not conceal any minions or thugs to do his dirty work for him. Neither his stance nor his location betrayed any hostile intent, but I knew better than to assume that the perpetrator of such heinous crimes would deign to visit me for the simple pleasure of seeing surprise on my face.
Devonshire’s smile widened. “My dear Hector, how glad I am to find you at home! I was worried that you might have been out on one of your investigations. May I come in?”
I stiffened slightly at the use of my first name, as well as the familiar tone he had adopted toward me. Still, it was likely all part of his intent to throw me off balance for the rest of the meeting. He had to know how thoroughly I had begun to investigate his dealings, else why would he make an appearance now? Though he had obviously come to distract or dissuade me from my efforts, he might let something slip about what he was planning next. The opportunity was far too rich to waste. Calm and control were the necessities of the day. “Lord Devonshire. I’m very sorry to have missed the messenger declaring your intent to visit. Otherwise I might have…prepared…a better welcome for you.”
The man paused, and a flicker of caution raced across his face. Then the uncertainty was buried again beneath the false joviality he wore, slipping beneath the emotional second skin. He laughed. “Quite so, Hector, quite so. I have shown a lack of social grace for coming unannounced, and I do hope you forgive the impropriety. All the same, I would plead for an hour of your time to speak.”
Obviously, he was not about to give up the chance to enter my apartment, and in truth I wanted to see just how far he was willing to push the veneer of respectability he maintained. It was fascinating, in a way, to see the falsehoods worn so comfortably in his smile and words. I stepped back, drawing the door aside to admit him. “It would be my pleasure, Lord Devonshire. My home is always open, after all.”
“My thanks, Hector. My thanks indeed.” He stepped quickly across the threshold and swept off his hat. Looking about for a place to put it, Devonshire deposited the article on the side table I kept near the door for just such a purpose. “Quite a fascinating place, Hector, though to be honest, I had expected a larger establishment. It must feel cramped to live in such confined quarters.” Though I had intended to keep the whole of our interview confined in the entryway, he wandered further into my living room, ambling distractedly toward the kitchen.
I closed the door carefully and tried to keep my tone undisturbed. It was more difficult than I would have preferred, given the anger boiling in the depths of my heart. “It suits my needs, Lord Devonshire, and I assure you that I am satisfied with my address. Is there anything that I might help you with?”
Looking back, Devonshire nodded absently. An almost mournful expression formed upon his brow. “Yes, dear Hector, I am afraid there is. Would you mind if we sat?” I gestured to the chair nearest him and settled cautiously into the cushions of the seat farthest away from him. He sighed. “I might as well come directly to it, Hector. There’s been a kind of falling out between the two of us, hasn’t there?”
It was hard to restrain my first response. His tone was that of a regretful man addressing a former classmate with whom he had a row rather than a crime lord speaking with an investigator. I could scarcely imagine the arrogance which led him to believe that his charade of friendship could be maintained, but I managed to keep my tongue under control. All the same, my voice was rough when I answered him. “Lord Devonshire, I must confess I am not aware of any…issues…between us. Would you care to clarify your meaning?”
Devonshire raised an eyebrow and settled back in his chair. “If I must. You seem to have developed something of an obsession regarding me, Hector. I have had reports of you haunting my places of business, accosting my associates, and even trailing me as I make my daily rounds. It is most unpleasant that you would do such a thing, and I wonder what your intentions could possibly be if not to mean me harm.” He tilted his head to one side and his tone became sharper. “On top of all that, I believe I had made clear my wishes that you would address me by my given name, and yet you have reverted to the formal mode of conversation I so despise among my friends.”
I gave him a small smile. If he insisted on concealing his true intentions with a cloak of false friendship, then I could do so as well. “I apologize if my actions have caused you some concern, Lord Devonshire. My work these past few months has only been for the sake of your safety and well-being.” He raised his eyebrows in surprise, but I continued before he could respond. “You see, after the attack on the Academy, I grew quite concerned that other portions of your enterprise might suffer similar indignities. Therefore I have taken various steps to find out any possible criminal activity before it becomes a problem.”
He frowned. “But I was assured that this Rook and his fellow minions were either dead or in prison. Surely there is no need for such efforts on your part.”
My smile grew slightly as I shook my head. “I am loath to worry you, Lord Devonshire, but Rook was not the true mastermind behind the attack on the Academy. He had an employer, one who has thus far escaped my efforts to capture him. I fear greatly that he would prove a threat to your other interests as well. Such thugs as Rook and his band might take time to replace, but someone with an interest in your downfall would surely dedicate themselves to finding new avenues of attack. I cannot, in good conscience, allow that to happen, especially considering my previous failure.” I lowered my eyes, as if ashamed. “That is also the reason I have returned to using your title, Lord Devonshire. Until the enemy who ordered the fires set in the Academy is found, I feel it necessary to earn that privilege anew. I hope you will be patient with me as I strive to right the wrongs you have suffered thus far.”
Devonshire chuckled, and I sensed a welcome sort of unease in the sound. “Hector, I feel that I have taken advantage of you, then! My understanding is that you have set aside many other opportunities for profit in order to investigate this situation, and I have not been paying you a penny for any of it. Surely out of financial considerations alone, I could convince you to—”
I gestured demurely with one hand and he stopped short. “Lord Devonshire, you need not concern yourself with any recompense for this task. My resources are not yet in dire straits, and to be honest, I would not take a penny from you under these circumstances.” His eyes flashed, and I shook my head. “I would gladly see the man—or woman, I suppose—who is guilty of these crimes punished without reward for myself. The atrocities visited on the students of the Academy were beyond the pale of even the normal criminal mind, and such a deviant I would hunt down for the pleasure of seeing justice done. I promise you that much, Lord Devonshire. You can rely on it.”
There was a hint of frustration now in Devonshire’s face, and I fought hard to keep a smile from twisting my lips. His intentions to divert my investigation had obviously been frustrated, and I had phrased my responses to his objections in a manner that would compel him to tolerate my scrutiny. He could no more insist that I stop my work than he could reveal the true reason for his visit, and I gathered from his attitude that the value he placed on his secrecy was too high to abandon his friendly pretense now.
All the same, face pale, he tried again. “Hector, I must ask you again if all this effort is necessary. The Academy did indeed suffer a grim fate, and the fire was a testament to all of us of how grotesque the prejudice of men can become, but with the death of Rook and the others, it must have come to an end. I have noticed no further troubles, and I would urge you to turn your attention to your own interests while I care for mine.”
I inclined my head, my eyes never leaving his. “Your concern touches me, Lord Devonshire, but I cannot accept your suggestion quite yet. As you yourself have said, the perpetrators of this crime are among the worst of scum, and the thought of any who have escaped a just fate would rob me of any rest whatsoever.” With a certain amount of satisfaction, I allowed my smile to grow harder. “Worry not, however. Rest assured that if any of the culprits remain, they will be found and punished as the law requires.”
Devonshire held my gaze for another moment or two. The silence stretched between us, and then he stood with a distinctly dissatisfied air. “Then I believe my business with you is concluded, Hector. If you will not turn aside from this foolish course then there is nothing more I can say. I will take my leave, and wish you success in your endeavors.”
He started for the door, and I stood to follow him. “Thank you, Lord Devonshire, both for your patience and your continued interest in my affairs. If you have any further questions or concerns, please do not hesitate to call again.”
With a sharp motion, he collected his hat from the table and set it upon his head. I began to open the door to let him leave, but he forestalled me with a sudden motion of the cane. He caught my eyes and stared into them, the reptilian quality of his green gaze becoming clearer. “Hector, I beg of you to listen to reason. Your investigations will not turn to your profit, and if there is some sort of criminal mastermind out there, you may anger him with your continued involvement. A man willing to hire Rook to harm children will not hold back in dealing with you. Those you care for, those who depend on you, may be hurt by your loss.”
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For a moment, I simply returned that stare. The threat could not have been more blatantly stated, not without sacrificing the claim of innocence which sustained the whole theater between us. Then I smiled in a way that even Patricia would have been proud to see. “If that is what comes, I will consider the cost well worth the cause. Besides, I would be a poor investigator indeed to turn aside from a mystery by simple virtue of the danger it brings.” I pulled the door open the rest of the way and bowed elaborately. “Good day to you, Lord Devonshire, and thank you again for your visit and conversation.”
He studied me a moment more, and then strode out into the mist. “Good day, Hector Kingsley, and good luck.”
I immediately retired to my office and set to work. My assignments from the Pevensley clan I laid aside; though I owed them, and would give them, due attention, Devonshire’s visit had made it clear that I had drawn close enough to one of his plots to annoy him. That fact alone would have encouraged me if I had nothing else, but in recent days I had begun to uncover some small part of the man’s empire.
For an empire it was. Devonshire’s organizations stretched the length and breadth of England, and nearly every single branch of his legitimate business dealings was but a support structure for the rest of his underground domain. His industries in Barrow-upon-Furness had gathered little scrutiny, save for his emphasis on the patriotic support of Her Majesty’s Navy and Army in the production of their armaments. Yet many of those arms somehow found their way into the hands of criminals—smugglers and pirates as well—filtering down to the depths of the underworld where they could be used for murder and robbery. Devonshire’s investment in the coastal town of Eastbourne was usually seen as a simple continuation of the business decisions of his predecessor, an apparent victim of the riots that accompanied the Change. Only a much closer investigation would connect Eastbourne to several smuggling and slavery rings, as well as a place where corrupt politicians and venial officials might gather to be bribed.
It was the same for his businesses and associates in London herself. A connection to an Ethereal Science club might have seemed an innocent thing, but Devonshire had managed to shelter several of the less-ethical graduates of London’s universities among that club’s members, allowing them to continue their mad work under the auspices of the club’s good name—all the while paying Devonshire for the privilege of course. In one case, Devonshire had taken a simple tour of a factory owned by a business competitor, a visit which led to a tale of sabotage and murder that had brought Devonshire’s opponent to his knees and allowed the crime lord to buy the property from its original owner at a pittance. With it all spread out before me on a canvas of sturdy paper, I searched the network of Lord Devonshire’s schemes, wondering which of my investigations had finally struck a nerve.
I still searched when a knock at my door interrupted my deliberations. A glance at the clock told me that only an hour had passed since Devonshire’s departure. It was early yet for him to send enforcers to “encourage” me to bend to his will, but I was not about to take any chances. Once again I armed myself, this time adding a pair of pistols and a smoke grenade to my repertoire. All the while that same sharp knock stabbed at me, demanding my attention as the visitor upon my front step grew impatient.
By the time I reached the door, I had grown intensely weary of the incessant pounding. Anticipating the worst that Devonshire could send to threaten me, I yanked the door open and braced myself for an attack.
There on my doorstep, I found Patricia.
She smiled, tilting her head to one side as she did so. Her carbine was slung with elaborate carelessness across her shoulders, and her customary hunting goggles were affixed in their usual place atop her mess of red hair. Green eyes sparkled at me, promising no end of mischief, and she glanced down at the cane held ready in my hand. “Well hello, Hector. Were you expecting someone else to visit?”
I hurriedly set the cane aside. Of all the people I might have wanted to threaten, Patricia Anderson was not one of them. “Ms. Anderson! My sincere apologies. Your visit was entirely unanticipated.” I glanced around the street, wondering how many passers-by had witnessed the scene.
Patricia raised an eyebrow. She glanced about as well, as if curious as to what had caught my attention. “I’m sorry, Hector. I didn’t mean to throw you off your guard. I just happened to be in the area—”
“No, no, Ms. Anderson, your appearance is most welcome. Please do come in.” I stepped aside to let her enter, very conscious of the impropriety committed by being alone with her in my apartment, but unwilling to send her out into a street that might well be filled with thugs waiting in ambush. “I was indeed expecting visitors of an altogether different sort, but I would be glad to make time for a friend.”
With a playful grin, she crossed the threshold and sauntered toward the living room. “I’m happy to hear that, Hector. Though I am curious now.” She glanced back at me. “Who exactly were you expecting to come calling? Perhaps some unhappy ruffians waiting to assault you on your front step?”
I raised an eyebrow. “More or less. Though I confess the accuracy of your guess leaves me somewhat concerned. Did you see anyone lying in ambush as you came in?”
She shook her head absent-mindedly. “No. It would be a natural result of living in one spot and making a lot of people very angry, though. I keep telling you that you should move.” She began to idly examine the contents of my front room, looking for threats as if by force of habit. “Anyway, I might have a job you’d be interested in.”
As I was still slightly off balance from her evaluation of my safety, it took me a moment to realize what she’d said. “A job? Ms. Anderson, you know that I would be glad to help you in whatever endeavor you embark upon, but at the moment I find myself occupied with a great many tasks.”
Patricia’s eyes narrowed slightly. “A great many tasks, Hector? Or just one in particular?” I shifted my gaze to the nearest wall, and she continued. “I thought so. That’s where your paranoia’s coming from. You’ve been chasing shadows again, haven’t you?”
I winced at the accusatory tone in her words. Patricia was one of the few in whom I had confided my suspicions. Unfortunately, she had been skeptical of my initial conclusions, and dismissive of my efforts to find evidence of Devonshire’s perfidy. Even if there were some criminal empire in London, she maintained, they could surely not be any more dangerous than any other thug she’d encountered. Yet still I summoned my patience and tried to explain. “Lord Devonshire has been up to some interesting activities lately, Ms. Anderson. Among them, a visit here.”
“He came here?” Patricia smiled and rolled her eyes. “What did he want? Why didn’t you send for me?”
“It was nothing I couldn’t handle on my own, Patricia.” She spared a moment to spear me with a look. I stiffened and met her eyes with a glare of my own. “In any case, it is no matter to concern yourself with, Ms. Anderson. You can leave Lord Devonshire entirely to me.”
“Oh, really?” With that remark Patricia came to a complete halt. She regarded me frankly, her face growing hard. “Leave him to you? So you can what? Get your brains kicked in by some toughs in an alley? Or so some sharpshooter can pick you off while you go for bread in the morning? No, I think I’d rather you stop pestering the supposed crime lord and get on with something else. Like the job I need you to help me with.”
It was hard not to glower at her. “So I should just ignore the man? Patricia, he burned down a school. With children inside it! I cannot understand why you would have me simply ignore that when I have a chance to put things right.”
She brought her carbine off her shoulder and tapped a finger on the stock. “Well, if you had just let me shoot the man, it would be over. But you wouldn’t let me, so now we need to wait for him to slip up.”
Seeing that she was not willing to concede the point, and ultimately wary of the power that carbine had demonstrated in the past, I decided that discretion was in order. “Then tell me about this job you would have me do. Is it some duty like guarding a poodle—something you think will safeguard me until Devonshire escapes my notice?”
Her eyes flashed, but she shook her head and sat on the nearest chair. “No, nothing like that.” She paused. “You’ve heard of the disappearances up in Whitechapel.”
Patricia had not phrased it as a question, nor did she need to. The news scripts had been trumpeting each development from Whitechapel for the past few weeks. From all accounts, the first person to vanish from the streets of Whitechapel was a woman by the name of Anne Schafferly, a washwoman who had simply never come home one night. All that could be found of her was the bag of groceries she had carried on her way out to do a few chores. No other evidence had been recovered.
Whitechapel was not such a genteel place that such matters would normally have elicited comment. Unfortunate occurrences took place in Whitechapel nearly every day, and it was likely that poor Anne’s absence would have been attributed to an unannounced move, an accident, or even an everyday murder. Likely any earlier victims had already escaped notice for the same reason.
This time, however, the culprit involved had grown bold. A lock of hair, wrapped around a small doll and accompanied by a scroll, had soon appeared at the doorstep of a London constable’s office. The doll had been styled in the shape of the missing woman, with the features painted in exquisite detail. Even the doll’s clothing matched what she had worn on the day of her disappearance. The miniature replica had only one difference—the throat of the doll had been gouged by some sort of blade, and red paint filled the gap. Given the context, the terrified expression on the doll’s painted face did not bode well for poor Anne.
The hollow-eyed doll grew even more ominous when the hair was examined. Friends of Anne’s soon identified it as the same color and texture as that of their missing friend. Obviously the doll’s maker was taking credit for the woman’s disappearance, and making certain his claim was not doubted. Even then it would have simply been regarded as a grim confirmation of the unfortunate fate of the missing woman, had the scroll not contained a warning.
I had read it in a copy of the London Trumpet.
Dear Guvnor,
I’m writing to inform you that Miss Schafferly will not be returning to her home. She was a lovely doll, but they never last. Never. You have only yourselves to blame. If you had watched more closely, she might have lived.
You now have two days before I take the next one. Best wishes until then, constable.
There had been no signature and the constable dismissed the note as nothing but a prank—until the report of another missing person arrived two days later. This time, the wife of a gentleman who happened to be the constable’s friend disappeared. A day afterward, yet another scroll was left, along with another doll, this time at the door of a different government building and wrapped in the missing woman’s hair. This doll was more gruesomely treated, with a slash across its throat that nearly severed the head. Another, more diligent, search was made, but no sign of the woman was ever found.
The note had only fanned the fires of speculation. A pretty doll, the culprit had written, but again, she lasts but a little while. Perhaps the next will last longer.
Disappearance after disappearance had occurred within that borough of London, at least one person every week. For the past two months, not a single clue had been found as to the identity of the perpetrator, despite the increasing efforts of the London constabulary. The news scripts had gone wild with speculation about the man behind the notes, but nothing was based in more than fancy.
The situation had quickly worsened to the point where a committee of local businessmen had been formed to deal with it. Naming themselves the Whitechapel Safety Society, they began to offer a reward for the capture of the Whitechapel Dollmaker, as the mysterious criminal was called. Thus far their efforts had yielded little aside from more chaos in the borough. Bands of opportunistic ruffians had answered the siren song of the reward and had taken to wandering the streets, attempting to catch sight of anyone suspicious. Several completely innocent citizens had been beaten, and hysteria in Whitechapel had continued to escalate.
All this went through my mind as I stared at Patricia. When my tongue was finally freed from the spell of horror which she had so successfully woven, I began what I knew to be an entirely futile attempt to convince her otherwise. “Ms. Anderson, the situation in Whitechapel is not merely dangerous now. It is a quagmire, a pit of quicksand where even the most battle-hardened of people could vanish. I wonder why you would so willingly place yourself in such an unfavorable environment.”
Patricia tilted her head to one side, studying me like some curious bird of prey. “Hector, you aren’t trying to imply that I couldn’t catch this guy, are you?”
“I mean to imply nothing of the sort, Ms. Anderson.” The half-truth flowed easily from my tongue, and so a friendship—to say nothing of my hide—was spared. “I would merely point out that the risk in this situation can certainly seem to outweigh the cost. In the present scenario, the identity of your target remains to be discovered, and the reward which they have offered is pitifully small compared to the efforts you will need to go through in order to secure your prey. A huntress of your caliber would be able to see such circumstances and plan her actions accordingly.”
She smiled, and I felt a stab of dread. “And so I have, Hector. You see, I contacted the Whitechapel Safety Society privately. A few of their members had already heard of my reputation, and more had actually worked with me directly. They were easily persuaded to offer, shall we say, a much more considerable sum than they’ve made public to everyone else.” Patricia tapped a finger alongside her nose. “In fact, my approach made them rethink their efforts so far. They’ve contacted a select group of bounty hunters and investigators to make a similar offer if the killings stop. I’ll need to make this quick if I am going to outwit the rest of them.”
With effort, I controlled my initial reaction to her words. “Ms. Anderson, surely you can see how that will increase the danger rather than decrease it. Members of your competition will hardly hesitate to remove you if they believe you are close to their target, and the borough will be crawling with assassins and murderers. It would be a nightmare simply to figure out where the possible traps would be hidden, let alone the killer you seek. How will you possibly anticipate all the different methods your enemies would use to stop you?”
“Well, Hector, I can’t.” Her answer once again struck me dumb for a time, and she smiled brightly. “That’s why I’ve got you, isn’t it? If we go into this together, there’s no way the others can outsmart us. I can keep any other hunters off our back while you investigate the clues the killer has left, and you can watch my back while we go in for the capture. We can split the sizable reward between us, and the city’s safer for everyone in the end. What do you say?”
I regarded her for a moment in silence. Then I shook my head. “I’m afraid I can’t help you, Ms. Anderson. Pursuing this course, I believe, will lead you into significant peril, and I will not be party to something that exposes you to that kind of risk.”
Her face had fallen at my first words. By the end of my explanation, her face had flushed a dangerous crimson. “Oh, really? You actually think that if you don’t come with me, I’ll just back off and leave this one alone? You think I’ll be too scared to hunt him just because Hector Kingsley refuses to help?” She took a step closer, and her voice went dangerously low. “I’ve gone through worse things than this before I met you, Hector Kingsley, and I’ll get through even worse problems on my own if I have to. Don’t believe that I’m some delicate English puff waiting for you to guide me around London. I can take care of myself.”
Not intimidated by her glare, I folded my arms across my chest. “Then you can do so, Ms. Anderson. I will not be participating in this misadventure of yours, and I recommend strongly that you reconsider your own commitment to this course. Whitechapel is no place for anyone with a sense of self-preservation. I will hope that you are wise enough to recognize that fact and avoid the trouble ahead.”
For a few heartbeats, Patricia glowered at me. Then she leaned back and busied herself by dusting off her clothes. “All right, then. It’s settled. I’ll be taking this one alone.” I remained silent, though inwardly my heart bubbled with anger at her foolhardy decision. She stood and started for the door. “Have fun chasing phantom masterminds and walking the gentry’s dogs, Hector Kingsley. I’ll be busy actually doing something useful. Let me know if you find the courage to join me.”
Without waiting for a response, Patricia opened the door and stalked out. The heavy wooden door slammed shut behind her, and I spun on my heel. I strode over to the portal and set the locks, firmly, to make sure that the rest of my work was not interrupted. If I could hope to find any clue of Devonshire’s plans before afternoon, I would need to focus on the task—despite what a certain petulant bounty hunter might wish.
Yet as I turned again to my study, doubt reared its head for a heartbeat. Patricia had never abandoned me, nor I her, since we met one another. It felt unbearably unnatural to turn our backs on each other now, but such was the sacrifice I had to make if I were to capture Devonshire in his plots. Resolute in my decision, I again turned my attention to the scattered notes, searching for the clue I would need to bring justice to my enemy. My task was made all the more difficult by the stubborn guilt nagging at me from the corners of my mind, but there I remained until finally I found what I had been looking for.
The note mentioned a particular smuggler operating out of London, one who had begun to enjoy considerable success. I poured over my notes, struggling to fit the pieces of the puzzle together. This “Lady Hermiter” had made contact with several known associates within Devonshire’s organization in the past few months, and the activities of her band of thieves, fugitives, and ne’er-do-wells had grown remarkably agitated in the last few days. My eyes narrowed as I studied the information. Perhaps Devonshire was planning some new atrocity, and she was to be his instrument.
It was a small clue, but one I felt compelled to investigate nonetheless. Immediately I collected my tools and my cane. Securing the door, I went out into the frosty November afternoon, determined to bring my prey to heel at last.