Lady of Devices

chapter 22



The moon was no more than a possibility above the rooftops and catwalks of the docks when Claire finished compounding the gaseous capsaicin devices. By the light of a single stubby candle, Jake had recorded the ingredients and the steps by which they went together in laborious capitals, which meant that Claire worked much more slowly than usual. If she had had her notebook to hand, she could have completed the task in a quarter of an hour, but she stood more to gain by encouraging Jake’s cooperation—not to mention the fact that here was an excellent opportunity for him to practice his letters and spelling.

Snouts ranged from doorway to doorway, his eye on the cobbled street on one side, and the river on the other. “Come on,” he urged every five minutes. “They’ll be long away before we get there.”

Claire was at least as impatient as he; she was only better at concealing it. “We are ready, Mr. McTavish.” She wrapped the vials carefully in what might once have been a tea towel before stowing them in her satchel. “Let’s be off.”

Billy Crumwell and his gang, it turned out, were the lords of a squat in St. Giles Close, an address that sounded much more aristocratic than it was thanks to its proximity to the impoverished St. Giles Church. All the same, it possessed a stone foundation, sturdy walls, and even an empty space in the back that had once aspired to being a garden.

“Does Billy Crumwell own this property?” Claire whispered to Snouts, crouching next to him in the shadows of the church’s graveyard.

Snouts gave a snort, quickly muffled. “Don’t nobody own it but who c’n ’ang onto it. Billy knifed Spotted Dick Black to get it, after ’e’d been in ’is gang for a year.”

“But someone must own it.”

“Ain’t never seen ’em then. Them walls is gonna be trouble.”

“What makes you say so?”

“’Ow you gonna loft them vials inside? I can only see one window what’s broke. Mopsies!” The girls materialized next to them out of the dark. “Do a fast reconnoiter. We need ’oles in the walls, broken windows, and such like to pitch the vials through.”

Without a sound, the girls vanished as though they had done this kind of thing before. Claire had done no more than spare a thought for how chilly the night was becoming when they reappeared. “There’s a broken window next to the back door,” Lizzie reported in a whisper. “Shingles ripped out of the roof on the river side, and a loose board on the other side. Front’s tight and they set a watch.”

Snouts swore at this intelligence. “Jake. You do for the watch. Not a sound.”

Claire clutched at Jake’s arm. “What does that mean? You won’t kill that person, will you?”

He gave her an incredulous look. “What d’you take me for? Not unless he gives me a fight.”

“Not under any circumstances! I won’t have my friends connected with murder.”

“Lady—”

Claire’s skin had gone cold with more than just the dewfall. “I will not have it, do you hear? We are to succeed through the exercise of intellect, not brute force.”

“We’ll succeed through t’exercise of my good right arm, Lady,” Jake told her with flat scorn before he vanished into the night.

“I shall have words with him if any harm comes to the watch,” she said with grim promise.

“Jake’s a dab hand,” Tigg assured her. “Watch won’t feel a thing.”

This did not have the comforting effect he obviously intended. However, there was nothing to be done except the job she had come to do. She gritted her teeth as Snouts directed their strategy. “Tigg, you’re our best at the scramble, so you take the roof. I’ll take the back door. Mopsies, you take Jake his vial and set our own watch. Lady, you’d best stay here.”

“I shan’t,” Claire objected with no little warmth.

“You’ve done yer bit with the chemicals. You’ll only be in the way.”

“In the—? And who, might I ask, brought down your entire house at this very time last night with no assistance whatever?”

“Billy Crumwell’s killed four men,” Snouts’s tone was as blunt as a bludgeon and just as effective. “We make one mistake and he’ll do for us wi’out a thought. First sign of trouble, you take to your heels.”

“I am not leaving without my landau—or any of you.”

“Better you leave wi’ yer life.”

“But I—”

A bird whistled near the graveyard wall, and Snouts held up a hand. “Trouble.” Inch by cautious inch, they peered around the flying angel monument behind which they were concealed, to see a lantern bob across the squat’s yard. Three or four young men only a little older than Claire herself accompanied a person dressed in what appeared to be a velvet frock coat and a slightly crushed top hat adorned with a pair of driving goggles. His waistcoat was leather, and at his side he carried a pistol with a curiously bulbous and long barrel. Snouts drew a long breath.

“What? Who is that?” Claire whispered. “Is that Billy Crumwell?”

“Nah. Billy’s the git in the long coat wi’ the chains over ’is shoulder.” Claire peered at the group more closely. She hadn’t even noticed him. “That flash cove ... Lady, this is trouble. I’m callin’ Jake and Maggie in.”

“Why?”

Before he could answer, Billy Crumwell spoke to his companion. “I tell ye, Luke, ye won’t be sorry. She’s a beauty, not a scratch on ’er. A bargain at a hunnert pounds. Ye can go drivin’ about and no one’ll know you ent a lord.”

Claire gripped the granite plinth. They were too late. That filthy criminal! “We have to follow them. They’re about to sell my landau to that Luke person.”

Snouts gave a very credible imitation of a sparrow, and within seconds Maggie had joined them. Not a moment too soon, either, because Luke and his four escorts hopped the wall where she had been posted and made their way through the graveyard not twenty feet away. They filed into the narrow alley between the church and the dilapidated tavern next to it. Claire rose and settled the satchel with its lethal contents on her back.

Snouts jerked her back down. “Lady, you can’t. That’s Lightning Luke Jackson.”

“For heaven’s sake, let go of my skirt. I don’t care if it’s the leader of the Opposition. We’ll lose them!”

Jake dove into the shadow of the monument, breathing hard. “Good call, Snouts. Watch is out, but you won’t catch me takin’ on Lightning Luke.”

She neither knew nor cared what or who Lightning Luke Jackson was. All she knew was that he was about to buy her landau out from under her, and she had not come this far nor lost this much to allow it. “We are armed. I’m following them. You may do as you like.”

Ducking low and moving from monument to headstone, Claire clutched her hat, dodged across the graveyard and plunged into the inky shadow of the alley, where the voices ahead told her that her quarry had no fear of pursuit.

She smiled, guiding herself with fingertips on the greasy, cold wall to her right. A sound behind her wiped the smile away and she whirled to find a small form silhouetted against the moonlight. “Maggie?” A second form joined the first. “Lizzie?” Both girls pressed themselves against her skirts, even as she forged ahead with as much stealth as she could muster. “What are you doing? Has Snouts relented?”

“E’s in a fury,” Maggie whispered with admirable economy. “But I couldn’t let you go by yerself. We’re flock mates.”

“An’ I’m her flock mate.” Lizzie evidently wanted no confusion as to where her loyalties lay. “Mind you don’t get ’er kilt.”

“I will do my utmost to prevent that,” Claire promised. “Now. No more talking. We have work to do.”