It must have been an odd picture we made for the denizens of London as we traveled through the streets so arranged. Our fellow citizens had seen, and likely would see, yet stranger sights in their lives, however, and so we passed without comment or opposition.
By general consensus, we decided that it would be unwise to return to my humble abode. I suspected that the apartment would be watched closely, with groups of ambushers or intruders stationed to take advantage of my need for rest. Benjamin had not yet abandoned his own residence at the neglected alleyway where I usually found him. Between the worries over the Dollmaker and the threat of Hermiter’s thugs, however, he suggested instead that we take up a temporary residence with Francis in Eastgate.
There my stalwart friends led me, worn and near exhaustion from the efforts of the day. Between the twin disasters in hunting my two quarries, I half-expected to find some fresh doom waiting for us there, but there were no further ambushes or spies set for us as we crossed over from one neighborhood to the next. Shortly after, we reached the home of Mr. Francis Pryor.
His home was a modest affair, apparently built by someone absolutely determined to construct a home on a plot of land normally too small by far for the purpose. It was a narrow, cramped affair from the outside, with gray stone stretching to a second story that seemed about to lean out from its foundations. Despite such a precarious position, the building had managed to weather every storm and disturbance London had provided for well over fifty years, and I expected that Francis had seen to it that it would not fall for many more. Otherwise I trusted that he would never have ensconced his family in the spot for the past three years.
I found it a rather foreboding place, really. Francis had never given me much reason to visit; our mutual conflict had denied it in more troubled times, and even in periods of relative calm and peace we had a silent understanding that it would be better not to push things too far. For Francis it was a question of introducing someone from his wilder, less-controlled past, while for me it was the understandable reluctance to intrude upon a family who had established themselves by a respectable and determined effort in society. My own career would likely never provide me with such an opportunity, and if such familial surroundings were denied to me, I had at least resolved never to endanger Francis’ happiness here.
Charlotte Pryor and I had met only in passing, though I had found her a wonderfully tolerant and conversant lady of respectable manners. Of Roger, Francis’ son, I knew very little, but as of yet he had not evidenced any of the more…explosive…tendencies of his sire. All the same, I felt my breath quicken as we approached the door and Francis fished a key from his coat pocket.
Before he opened the door, he turned back to us. A cautious expression came over his face and he opened his mouth, likely to give us some instruction on the rules of his home. Whatever regulations he might have given us, he had no chance to expound. Before he could speak a word, the door flew open and Charlotte stepped out to greet us. Her auburn hair was piled atop her head in disarray, and she wore an exasperated expression along with her fine light blue dress. “Francis, it is about time you got home. Where have you been? Your son has—”
She came to an abrupt stop. Her nose crinkled delicately, and her eyes grew quite serious. “Francis. Is that smoke I smell?”
Francis gave a quick, hateful look in my direction and cleared his throat. I noted, with some measure of satisfaction, that no trace of his usual flock of sparks now hovered about his person. “Yes, my dear, but I had to this time.”
She did not soften at all. “You know we agreed to avoid that sort of thing, Francis. That’s not just a campfire or a stage trick I smell. You’ve burned something big this time. I would know why and what sort of trouble you’ve brought home to our doorstep.”
By the final sentence, her voice had grown so serious that I fully understood Francis’ panicked expression. I decided, in a spontaneous fit of mercy, to intervene on his behalf. “Mrs. Pryor, if I may be so bold, I would explain the situation.” She turned her gaze to me, her blue eyes still tight with worry, and I bowed. “I do not know if you remember me, but my name is Hector Kingsley.”
Her eyes lost focus, as if she were remembering. “You’re not a friend from the Association, am I correct?”
I shook my head. “No, ma’am. Francis and I were friends from childhood, and we came to London together with Mr. Smithridge.” I indicated Benjamin, and the mimic gave a courteous bow. Recognition now filled her eyes and she nodded sharply.
“Oh. That Hector. I think I recall you now. If you would come inside, please? You must think me rude to keep you waiting on the porch step.” Charlotte retreated inside, followed by her dejected husband. I glanced at Benjamin; he seemed to struggle not to laugh as he entered. With another shake of my head, I followed suit. It was likely to be an interesting visit.
“I’m afraid that is the whole of the situation, Mrs. Pryor. I hope you do not remain offended at what your husband was compelled to do in my defense.” Charlotte Pryor had proved herself to be nearly an equal match for her husband in temper, and I did not care to have her remain upset with me or my old friend for long.
To my eternal relief, she sighed and sat back in her chair. “I suppose I shall forgive it, Mr. Kingsley. The situation did indeed warrant the act, though next time I hope you find another way, Francis. You and I both know how unhealthy it is for you around a real fire, especially one you’ve started yourself.”
Francis nodded. His fingers caressed the coin he carried, a reminder of his responsibilities as a member of the Association. “I know, Charlotte. I am sorry to have given you such concern.” He directed another half-outraged glare in my direction, though the real anger had long since evaporated as I had explained the situation on his behalf. “Though I admit it would be easier if my childhood friends would not drown themselves in such trouble so consistently.”
Benjamin chuckled from his seat cushion. Roger, a young boy of about six years of age, sat nearby; the two had been exchanging a quiet conversation of sorts, likely full of all types of words no mother would want their child repeating. Francis’ comment had brought the mimic’s head up, however, and he waggled a finger in the ifrit’s direction. He spoke in Francis’ own voice. “You owe us anyway, ifrit. Or do you not remember that time at the creek?”
Francis raised his eyebrows and slapped the armrest of the chair in which he reposed. “The creek! I would never have been there in the first place if it had not been for your foolish—”
I raised my voice just enough to cut off the argument in mid-outburst, but not enough to embroil myself in the row. “By any measure, I remain grateful for your husband’s timely assistance, and I would appreciate if you would not hold him responsible for having done his best to resolve the situation.”
Charlotte gave me a calm smile. “Of course, Mr. Kingsley. I must say that I am curious as to why you were in that situation in the first place, but I suppose that it would have much to do with your clients, and I imagine that it would gain me little to infringe upon their privacy.”
Her diffident tone did not match the sharp glint of curiosity in her eyes, but I merely nodded in response. “You are, unfortunately, very much correct, Mrs. Pryor. My efforts in regards to Ms. Hermiter and her allies depend on a level of confidentiality, and though I hold you in the strictest of confidences, I would not wish to involve you further in such an ignoble affair.” I endeavored to smile. “Once the culprits are in the custody of the constables, however…”
“Of course, Mr. Kingsley.” She smiled in return and stood. Her hands smoothed her skirts for a moment. “I am not so inept as to assume that I can keep Francis out of whatever mischief remains, but might I count on you to guarantee his safety? As vexing a husband as he might be at times, I am quite fond of the man.”
I stood, followed quickly by the others. “Of course, Mrs. Pryor. I will not endanger him in the least manner.” She nodded, and then motioned for Roger to join her. He hopped off the seat he had occupied next to Benjamin and then skipped from the room at her side. Charlotte glanced back only once, to smile quietly at her husband, and then took her leave.
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From where he stood, Francis let out a soft snort. “You’ll likely regret that promise, Hector.” He sat with a huff and folded his hands in his lap. “It might take time, but you’ll regret it nonetheless.”
His tone was resigned rather than pompous. I looked at him carefully as I took my own seat. “Which one, Francis? My commitment to keep you away from danger?”
He waved a hand in the air. “No, no. You’ll likely regret that commitment as well, but I meant the other promise.” Francis chuckled dryly. “I do hope that you don’t mind seeing some version of yourself prancing about on stage, Hector, because I dare say she might write a play about your little adventure here.”
Benjamin broke into another burst of laughter, and I felt myself redden with embarrassment. I strove to speak evenly, all the same. “Surely you are joking, Francis. As much as I might believe that this case to be worthy of my attention, I cannot believe that any audience would find it fascinating as well.”
“I don’t think you understand, Hector.” Francis shook his head. “I’ve seen my wife with a similar look before, and each time it has proceeded one of her more fruitful writing periods. The last time, she created a four-piece epic based around the life of a particularly heroic fisherman. I imagine yours will provide her with plenty of fodder.”
For an instant, I imagined myself portrayed onstage. Mildly horrified by the possibility, I sat back in my chair. “I don’t suppose there is any chance I could convince her otherwise?”
Francis smiled. “As well try to turn back a landslide, Kingsley. I tried to keep you away from her, you recall.”
I stared. “I thought that you were attempting to protect her from my activities.”
“Why in the world would I need to protect her from you? The other way around, my good friend. The other way around indeed.”
With his stage-worthy performing voice at full volume, Benjamin began to gesture as if he were announcing at a theater before him. “Ladies and gentlemen, the adventures of an intrepid investigator! Uncovering falsehoods and bringing truth to the masses! Casting light into the dark corners of the world, revealing what was once lost or hidden!”
I could only cover my face with my hand. The indignity of the situation was nearly unbearable, but I had no option but to continue forward. To do anything less would be to surrender the cause to my opponents. Besides, though it would be somewhat … uncomfortable … to see some version of myself upon the stage, it would make our victory over Devonshire all the sweeter if his downfall was so publicly displayed. With considerable effort, I strove to calm my own turbulent feelings and focus on the matter at hand.
“While I appreciate your efforts on my behalf, we may be better served if we return our attention to the case.” I was compelled to wait until Benjamin’s mirth had sufficiently subsided, but once he had calmed to a mere chuckle, I continued. “I believe that we all agree that a speedy resolution to the conflict with Ms. Hermiter—and Lord Devonshire—would be desirable by all of us. Such a conclusion would safeguard our families, if nothing else.”
At this statement, Francis nodded quite emphatically. Benjamin’s chuckles cut off, and a glance to my right confirmed that his face had settled into a somber expression. I continued, quite sure of the fact that I had captured their full attention. “Therefore, I believe we should attempt to discern Ms. Hermiter’s current purpose. May I rely on your help?”
“You may.” Both had answered in the same voice, and the oddity of it surprised Francis sufficiently that Benjamin got in the next word. “What facts have you already uncovered in the case, Kingsley?”
I raised an eyebrow. “I have seen a considerable amount of equipment in Devonshire’s—I should say, Hermiter’s—possession that will allow them to dig a tunnel. There was a drilling machine, as well as some tools and gunpowder.” Before I knew it, I had reached into the pocket of my coat for my notes. When my fingers found naught but air, ashes, and annoyance, I recalled their destruction at Hermiter’s hands. “They have occupied in the basement of a jewelry shop at the borders of Whitechapel for their base of operations. It was the building where you witnessed my capture, Francis.”
Francis nodded. “Richard and Sullivan’s. I remember the men who used to run that business. They seemed quite respectable when I met them.”
“Respectable or not, they are no longer in possession of the property.” Frustrated, I batted at my hands to clear myself of their clinging reminder of my failure. “Hermiter and her men have already begun some type of mining operation in the ground floor of the shop. Their tunnel stretches some distance down before turning toward the rear of the property. I believe they would be heading west, if they continued in the direction they had started in.”
My comments brought a frown to Benjamin’s face. He spoke cautiously, in my voice. “Curious. That would take them directly outside of Whitechapel, correct?” I nodded, and he continued in a puzzled tone that mirrored my own confusion quite well. “That would not make much sense. After all, Bishopsgate is nothing but shops and stores, not mansions. They would have to tunnel all the way past Bishopsgate simply to reach a place where people actually lived.”
“Unless a residence was not their target, of course.” Francis’ crimson eyes blazed with sudden excitement. The sparks that had been so long absent from his presence began to snap into existence around his fingers. He did not seem to notice them as he interlaced his fingers before him and smiled. “Bishopsgate does not only house shops. There are banks there too, as I recall.”
His statement brought utter silence to our deliberations as the implications dawned on our minds. I spoke slowly, attempting to conceal the building torrent of excitement within me. “You’re right, Francis. It has to be a bank. There’s nothing more valuable in the area, and digging a tunnel would allow them to reach their goal in complete safety.” An obstacle rose to check my headlong rush into giddy triumph, and I paused to consider it. “How could he hope to succeed? Devonshire has to know of the kind of security a bank vault would provide. It would take an entire division of soldiers to force the doors open, and even then they would need so much time that the Army would surely respond to the disruption.”
Benjamin spoke again, his voice now in the wheedling tone of some debtor I did not know. “I have heard some rumors about a way to open a bank vault without the need for heavy equipment.” He paused again, uncertain. “The Swiss developed it in order to test their own security. They lever the door partway open and pour in gunpowder. It’s a sort of controlled explosion, or so I’ve heard.”
My blood ran cold. I remembered the barrel of gunpowder and the curious equipment in the basement of Hermiter’s newly acquired jewelry shop. I knew now its sinister purpose. “That must have been what I stumbled onto. A plot to empty a bank vault into his own coffers.” Slowly, I smiled. “We have him, gentlemen. We cannot fail to destroy him this time.”
Francis snorted, sending a shower of sparks toward the remarkably fireproof rug. “We still don’t know his specific target, Kingsley, nor do we have any idea how to foil what preparations he has already made. Your celebrations seem rather anticipatory to me as of yet.” He paused, and a slow smile flickered to life upon his lips. “Unless you are willing to dare more risky methods of bringing the plot to a halt; then it would become an exercise in simplicity.”
“Firing the tunnel would bring their plans to a halt.” I let Francis’ spirits rise for a spiteful moment. “Unfortunately, that would render the entire conflict fruitless for our longer aims, as well as exposing us to the threat of the constabulary for our efforts. We need to connect this crime to Hermiter directly, and through her, to Devonshire. Only a victory of that nature will give us the opportunity to truly frustrate our enemies.”
As Francis tried unsuccessfully to conceal his disappointment, Benjamin frowned. At first I assumed that his disapproval centered around how I had baited my inflammatory friend, but when he spoke in my voice, my expectations proved false. “Are you sure that this plan is our best option, Hector? It seems much more risky to allow them to strike the bank, and if we frustrate Devonshire’s plans prematurely, he would likely be harmed enough to discourage his efforts. Can you be satisfied with that much?”
I shook my head. “You don’t understand, Benjamin. If we do not deliver a strong blow against him, Devonshire will be able to gather his forces anew and strike back. We would increase our danger by drawing out the conflict, rather than putting an end to the man for good. It has to connect him to the crime, which means we must catch them in the act—especially Ms. Hermiter—and compel his men to testify against him.”
The Changling remained of a doubtful countenance; his next words confirmed the apparent lack of confidence in my reasoning. “If Devonshire is desperate enough to hire machinery and assault a bank, then we can only assume that his finances are in rather dire straits. Surely by denying him the funds he so clearly desires, we can starve him—and his operation—of the lucre it needs to continue. Wouldn’t that be enough?”
“No, I agree with Kingsley.” I looked at Francis in surprise, and he shrugged. “You’re right about one thing. If we plan on hurting this man—who, by all the accounts you have given me, is a ruthless and capable gentleman—we must do so in a way that leaves him no hope of a response. The destruction of his network must be complete.” Francis looked back to me, a glint of excitement in his crimson eyes. “Anything you have need of from me, Kingsley, is at your disposal.”
I turned back to Benjamin and was on the verge of offering him the chance to avoid a commitment to the entire endeavor when my friend heaved a sigh and shook his head. “So be it. If we must engage this foe in so risky a situation, then we must do so. You can rely on my help as well, Hector.” A hint of mischief appeared in his eyes, and he tilted his head to the side. “Of course, it might all go much better had we the enchanting company of Ms. Patricia Anderson to accompany us…”
Francis gave a snort of laughter, but he had covered his mouth by the time I looked back at him. The gesture failed to conceal the sparks dancing about his shoulders as he attempted to restrain his mirth. Benjamin felt no such constraints, and he gave a bark of laughter. It was a chore to settle them down enough to continue our plans, but even as I launched myself into the effort, I felt buoyed up by their support. My crusade against Devonshire had ground to a halt while I was isolated and alone, but with the help of my friends, I could not but conquer my foe.