“There’s something wrong, I know it,” he said, shaking his head. “I just wish I could see for myself that she was well!”
He drained the remains of his beer and was in the process of calling over the bartender for another when my view was entirely blocked.
“Yer sittin’ at our table,” a rough voice told me.
Peering down at me was a large, bearded man and his stout, short companion not far behind.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” I said, leaping up from my seat.
“That ain’t our table,” the short one corrected. “Ours is outside.”
“My ’umblest apologies,” the bearded one said. “But seein’ as yer up, ’ow’d you like a drink wif us?”
I shook my head. “That’s quite all right—”
“We insist,” the short one said, giving me a false smile. “Any ’quaintance of Dr. Beck is a ’quaintance of ours.”
I picked up my glass, silently cursing to myself. The big one led the way to a wooden back door, and his companion prodded me from behind to follow. It scraped open to a secluded alleyway behind the bar. Sickening smells and foreboding reddish stains assaulted my senses, and my heart went off thumping again. The two men seemed to be quite at home here. What was their connection to Dr. Beck? And where did that short one acquire the long scar along his face?
The tall man rolled up his sleeves and took a swaggering step forward. The false politeness disappeared from his face. “Who are ya?” he growled.
“I—I’m sorry? Ah—uh, James . . . Brick?” I squeaked, backing against the wall.
“No ya ain’t—now tell us.” He scowled menacingly.
“An’ what’re ya ’ere for, girl?” the shorter one growled as he reached into his pocket. Another squeak loosed itself from my throat. How did they know?
“I—I was, um—I am looking for my sister, Rose, and—” I started to say.
The two exchanged the same curious glance. Smiles passed across both their faces, and they turned to me with synchronized bows.
“Ah! As we suspected. Yer the gal.”
“The one Braddock’s been tryin’ very, very ’ard to ’elp.”
“You aren’t with Dr. Beck?” I managed.
The two men whispered between each other.
“Course we can trust ’er,” the bearded one said encouragingly. “She dunnit sound like she’s lying.”
“Dunnit look like it, either,” the other finished.
“Settled, then.” The bearded one turned to me. “Muh name’s Arthur, this ’ere’s William, and we’re with yer friend Braddock. We provide ’im with information on ’ccasion—call us merchants, yeah?”
William sniffed the alley air and wrinkled his nose. “Arthur, we best be back, this ain’t no place for a lady.”
“And in ’ere is?” Arthur asked, smirking as he pulled the door open for us.
William led the way back into the black void, and the faint outline of his body was the only thing keeping me from crashing into everything as my eyes adjusted.
“Who—how did you see through my disguise in here?”
“We’re talented,” William said over his shoulder.
“Quite talented,” came Arthur’s voice from behind.
William stopped at an open table and pulled back a chair for me, which must have looked like strange behavior to anyone sober enough to notice or care.
I sat down, trying to find the right words. “Are you? Do you have? I mean . . .”
Arthur nodded at me. “Yea, we’re special-like, just as you are. I could ’ear the strain—in yer voice. Ya shoulda let ’er change it.”
“Don’t matter,” William put in as he sat, “I could see the makeup and the alt’rations. Brushstrokes, yeah? Like you’s got a mask. Still, that Camille bird’s gotten right good at it, took me ’most two seconds to see ya through it.”
“You are acquainted with Camille?” I asked.
“ ’Ow’d ya think we got these threatenin’ faces?” They smiled, teeth glinting in a sharklike way.
“Charged a fortune, though.”
Arthur gave a disappointed shake of the head. “Shouldn’ta paid extra for the scar, Willy.”
“Scar’s the most impor’nt part,” William said. He looked to me. “Terrifying, innit?”
“Quite,” I said, my pulse finally slowing. “Why did you change your faces?”
“Went into ’iding,” they spoke together.
“From?” The two exchanged rapid, hesitant glances before coming to a silent decision, turning back to me.
“The one yer lookin’ for. Experimented on me ears.”
“An’ me eyes.”
“We’d rather not dredge up those memories, love.”
“Unpleasant, see?”
“Where’d that lass get to?” Arthur asked, twisting around and searching the room.
“There she is,” William declared triumphantly, holding up three fingers for a barmaid across the room to see. “Drinks on Arthur ’gain.”
Arthur scoffed. “If she were talkin’, I’d’ve won,” he said, shaking his head.
“But ya din’t.”
They looked easy enough, but I could sense an undercurrent of pain that was strikingly similar to Mr. Braddock’s. Still, I had to keep on the difficult topic. “So why are you two here?”
“Braddock asked us to keep our ears out for information about Beck,” Arthur whispered. “And this ’ere is the top place for ’earing about special-like folk.”