A Curious Beginning

“Don’t you mind the prickles?” he asked, and I had the oddest sensation he was laughing at me.

“Prickles don’t frighten me,” I returned stoutly. “Not even yours.”

“I shall make a note of that,” he said soberly.





CHAPTER SIXTEEN


It had been on the tip of my tongue to tell Stoker about the ransacking of Wren Cottage, but his reaction to learning about Mr. de Clare had been so unguarded, I could not bring myself to shatter his peace twice in one afternoon. The story would keep, and I consoled myself with the thought that it would give him a fresh opportunity to rage at me when I did get around to telling him—an activity he clearly enjoyed. Besides, he had the rebenque fight to prepare for, and I believed it could not help his chances to have additional distractions. He insisted upon extracting a promise from me that I would go straight to bed and not tax my strength further.

I gave it to him because, in my experience, it is far better to tell a man what he wants to hear and then do as you please than attempt to reason with him. I counted to one hundred after he left, then slipped out of the caravan. The crowd was gathering as it did every night, but I noticed the change immediately. There was something extra in the air, some new hum of anticipation, and I realized with a sickening twist of my stomach that it was bloodlust. They were here to see something extraordinary, and the professor had done all in his power to ensure folk knew about it. A dozen of the riggers and acrobats had been pressed into service, distributing handbills, and I snatched one as I passed. I skimmed it hastily, then read it again in mounting horror.

I dashed as quickly as I could to the small tent where Stoker was preparing.

I found him removing his coat and waistcoat with studied resignation and brandished the handbill at him. “Have you seen this?”

“Veronica, you gave me your word that you would rest,” he said, his expression thunderous.

“I lied, and we can discuss that to whatever length you wish, but later. Have you seen this?” I demanded.

He did not take it. “I have.”

“Did you know the professor meant to use your real name when he advertised the fight?”

“No.” His voice was clipped. “I knew he was angry with me over an incident that happened a few years ago, but I thought we were past it.”

“You mean the departure of Baby Alice—Sirena as she came to be, thanks to your efforts.”

“You have been busy,” he said, taking up his rebenque.

“I had the story from Salome. I know he blamed you when Alice left.”

“Yes, well, I never realized quite how far the professor was willing to carry a grudge.”

I looked down at the smudged letters on the handbill. THE FIGHT OF THE CENTURY. ACCUSED MURDERER TEMPLETON-VANE TO CROSS WHIPS WITH THE LARGEST MAN ON EARTH! It was the tawdriest piece of sensationalism I had ever seen. I screwed the paper into a ball and threw it aside.

“Stoker, he has exposed you. It is only a matter of time before someone at this fight realizes you are wanted by Scotland Yard.”

“I understand that,” he said coolly. “It means we must leave this place as soon as the fight is over.”

“No, we ought to leave now! What possible reason is there to stay?”

He gave me a long, level look. “Which one would you like? Pride? Obligation? After all, I do owe him for the past few days’ keep. He has been kind enough to present me with a bill. If I don’t work it off, he can send the bailiffs after us. And I already have quite enough people interested in my whereabouts.”

He tested the weight of the rebenque’s handle, flipping it lightly from one hand to the other.

“This is my fault,” I began.

He paused long enough to take me by the shoulders. “No, it isn’t. The choice to do this is mine.”

“Are you quite certain . . . that is, a fight of this sort requires a particular state of mind, I should imagine.”

He gave me a look that was almost pitying, and when he smiled it was the smile of a vengeful god. “My dear Veronica, I am surprised you have not already learned—everyone has a capacity for cruelty. Not everyone gets the chance to exercise it.”