A Christmas Odyssey (16 page)

Ash looked at him in disdain. “Not until after you’ve killed Shadwell,” he replied. “You need me until then.”

Henry looked at him. “We don’t intend to kill
Shadwell, just to rescue Lucien, and Sadie if she wishes it.”

Ash leaned on his cane. Henry offered him a hand to steady himself and he took it, reluctantly. “Same thing,” he said. “He won’t give up, and he knows these tunnels and passages far better than you do.”

“Then you are quite right when you say that we need your help,” Henry agreed. “We need to have some form of plan by the time Dr. Crow returns. He has gone to take Rosa’s body to where it will be safe, and buried properly, if we find that we cannot do it ourselves.”

“I know.”

Henry opened his mouth to say something, then changed his mind. “Do you know these passages well enough to help us?” he said instead.

“Of course I do,” the man replied. “What is your plan?”

Henry smiled ruefully. “We have very little yet. We wish to rescue Lucien and Sadie, and prevent Shadwell from following us out. The only weapon we have is fire.”

Ash pulled his grotesque face into an even more bizarre grimace. “Then we must get Lucien out.
We can set fires that will trap Shadwell so that he cannot follow you. Sadie will not come. Lucien may. You must be prepared for any answer, and willing to leave them, or you will be burned as well.”

“We know,” Henry agreed.

Henry dug around in his pockets and found a piece of paper on which Ash could draw a plan of the tunnels, steps, and passages through buildings where Shadwell would likely be, along with the direction of drafts, and so the way fire would travel.

“We’ll have to wall him in,” Ash explained. “Here.” He pointed to the end of a network of pathways.

“Doesn’t he have an escape door, a back way out?” Squeaky asked. “I would.”

Ash smiled. “That way.” He put his fingers carefully on the paper. “Into the sewers.”

“As long as we get Lucien,” Henry said quietly, his face pale. “We may have to forgo getting Shadwell too.”

Ash touched the paper again. “If we set fires here, and here, and maybe here, too, then we’ve got him. You’ll need to collect as much rubbish as you can, stuff that’ll burn easy.” He smiled. There
was something ghastly about it, and Squeaky found himself turning away from the sight. “I know where they keep the oil for the lamps,” Ash went on. “And the tar for the torches along the tunnels where they can use a flame. We’ll have a fire to make hell proud.”

B
y the time Crow returned they had collected oil, tar, several piles of tallow candles, and as much old wood and rags as they could find without robbing people whose attention they could not afford to attract.

They crept forward together. Ash led the way, tapping his stick on the ground to make certain of it so his nerve-dead feet did not trip him. He was followed by Henry, Crow, Bessie, and Squeaky, all carrying or dragging behind them roughly made sacks of candles, pieces of wood, tins, bottles, and jugs of oil, and buckets of tar. When they reached the places the man showed them, they very carefully laid their fires, sometimes with a fuse made of torn and knitted rags soaked in oil, aided by a little tar. There was no time for error or for waiting and watching.

With shaking hands Squeaky lit a match, held it as still as his trembling hands would allow, then touched it to the rags. It ignited immediately. The flame raced along it and caught hold. He jerked back, watched it for another moment to make sure it was not going to die, then ran as fast as he could to the second site to set it burning too.

He knew Crow was doing the same with the other fires.

Henry, Bessie, and Ash made their way to the heart of Shadwell’s territory, expecting to meet him around every corner or through every door or archway.

When they finally did, it was deeper than they had been before. They crossed a last threshold into a clean, stark cellar with doorways to both the right and left, and one to the back. The last must lead to the sewer, the other to the tunnel where the fire was already approaching. Shadwell was sitting in an armchair with Lucien in a chair opposite him. Sadie stood casually by a table with a cabinet next to it, filled with tiny carved wooden drawers.

“What now?” Shadwell asked, rising to his feet. “Have you changed your mind? Come to give me
the girl and take Lucien in exchange? I’m afraid you cannot do that. You see, Lucien is right. He is of far more use to me than she could ever be. You made your bargain and it stands.”

“I came back to ask Lucien if he wishes to leave,” Henry replied. “You too, for that matter. Although I have no idea where you might go. I doubt there is a place for you above the ground.”

For several seconds Shadwell did not reply.

“You are right.” His voice was still very quiet, insistent, and the strange sibilance was even more pronounced. “My place is here, in all the stairways and passages that thread under the blind, busy world. This is my world. But you chose to come into it. Everyone who is here chose to be, but I choose who stays and who leaves. I let you leave once, but not this time.”

Crow came up behind Henry. Squeaky appeared at his other side, but facing backward, keeping guard over the tunnel.

“Go, while you can!” Lucien said urgently. “He’s right. I made my decision and I’ll abide by it.”

Henry could smell smoke drifting toward them from the passage beyond Squeaky: a sharp, acrid stinging in his nose. In another moment they
would all be aware of it. And the flames could not be far behind if the man in lavender was right about the flow of air in the tunnels.

“Lucien!” Henry said urgently.

Lucien shook his head. “Let me pay my debts,” he answered gravely. “Please tell my father that I did that. Go, while you can. You don’t owe me anything. You never did.”

The smoke was getting stronger. Suddenly Shadwell caught the odor of it. His eyes widened and his head jerked higher. The only way of escape was either past Henry, Crow, and Squeaky, or past Lucien through the door behind them, into the sewers.

The crackle of fire was audible now.

It was Bessie who broke the silence. She walked forward to Lucien, past the line of the door to the left. “Lucien, yer gotta come wi’ us. Squeaky and me come back for yer. Yer can’t stay ’ere …”

The door to the left crashed in and the fire spread across the room, cutting them off with a wall of heat.

“Bessie!” Squeaky cried out desperately. “Yer stupid little cow! What … Oh, God!” He tore off his jacket and put it half across his head, then bent and charged through the flames to where he
could still just see her. The heat was terrible, but he was through the wall and out the other side to find Bessie gripping Lucien’s arm.

She swung around.

Squeaky seized her, picking her up. She weighed almost nothing. He could feel her bones through the thin cloth of her dress. He turned, but the fire was taking hold. It was hotter, spreading already. He hesitated. How could he get her back through it to the way out? What if her clothes caught fire? Her hair?

There was no time to even think. He put his head down and charged. He felt the flames all around him for a terrifying moment. The pain was enough to make him cry out, but he bit it back, afraid to draw in a scorching breath.

Then he was out the other side, Bessie still in his arms. Crow clutched hold of him, throwing his coat over Bessie and holding it, smothering the flames that licked at her dress.

No one had noticed Henry going the other way through the flames toward Lucien, Sadie, and Shadwell.

Lucien stared at him, horrified. “You can’t come with us!” he said urgently, his eyes flickering just once toward the doorway to the sewers.

“I don’t intend to,” Henry replied. “But if you hurry, you can come with me. There’s still time to get back through the fire, if we go now.”

But it was Shadwell who answered. “You want him, you must pay.” He was standing close to Sadie, between her and Henry. He put out his hand and his strong, heavy fingers closed like a vise on her arm. “If he goes with you, I will kill her.”

Henry hesitated.

“Slowly,” Shadwell elaborated. “Painfully.”

“You are doing that already,” Henry told him. “My leaving Lucien behind will not change that. As you have pointed out before, those who are with you are there by choice. I don’t know what choices Sadie has left. Each decision we take can narrow them. But if she will not fight to save herself, no one else can do it. There comes a point when we all stand alone.”

Lucien took a step toward them.

“Go, while you can,” Henry ordered him. “I’m coming with you.” He turned, and in that instant Shadwell let go of Sadie and put his other hand on Henry. His grip was like iron. For a moment, as he saw Lucien step into the flames, Henry was paralyzed. The pain in his arm took his breath away.

Lucien was gone. Sadie was still standing by the wall, stunned.

Henry swung around to face Shadwell. He had never physically fought anyone in his life. There was only instinct to prompt him.

Shadwell’s face was close to his. For the first time in the red light of the flames, Henry saw his eyes, empty keyholes into hell in his uneven face. He could not bear to look at them. He bent forward a little and charged, knocking them both off balance and toppling onto the floor, kicking at each other. It was ridiculous and desperate. The heat was filling the room and sucking the air out of it. Henry was gasping already.

Shadwell was on top of him, holding his throat. He couldn’t breathe at all. The room swam into darkness.

Then suddenly he was slapped, hard, and gasped for air.

“Get up!” a voice hissed at him. “Get up, you fool! Take my arm!”

Henry opened his eyes, expecting to see Crow and Squeaky, but it was Ash hitting him with the little strength he had. “Get out of here, down the sewer and turn left. Stay left at every turn. Go!”

Henry struggled to his knees. The fire all but filled the room now. Shadwell was on the floor, kneeling, rising, his back to the flames. Sadie was screaming, her clothes alight. Henry tried to lunge toward her but Ash kicked him in the ribs. Henry doubled up with the pain of it and found himself staggering forward. A hard shove from behind and he was through the open doorway. It slammed shut behind him. In seconds the room would be an inferno. Yet he was safe and utterly alone, unable to go back, unable to help.

The sour smell of the sewers was cold and damp, a balm to his seared skin. He was glad to step into the icy water and wade to the left. Feeling his way in Stygian darkness, he was too relieved to be afraid.

The water grew deeper, the current of it stronger as he went a little uphill. As Ash had told him to, he bore always to the left.

His feet were numb beyond his ankles by the time he saw light ahead, but he had not had to travel as long as he had feared. With a shudder of relief he made his way onto a ledge and upward to an iron ladder. He grasped it and climbed to the passage above.

There were sounds ahead, footsteps. Henry
froze. Then he saw the pool of light on the dripping wall. Suddenly the slime of it was gold. A whole lantern appeared, and the hand holding it, then the sleeve of Squeaky’s scorched and ruined jacket.

“Squeaky!” Henry shouted with joy. “Here! Over here!”

Squeaky came forward at a run, the lantern swinging around wildly, as his feet slid on the wet surface. “Where the hell have you been?” he demanded, his face contorted with both fury and relief. “You had us scared half to death! You ever do that again, an’ I’ll …”

Crow was coming behind him with Lucien and Bessie. They were all filthy, skin scratched and burned. Their clothes were torn and in some places blackened by fire, but they were alive.

Bessie threw her arms around Henry, hugging him with more strength than he would have thought she could possess. Slowly he closed his arms around her and held her just as powerfully.

“You need to get those burns tended,” Crow interrupted. “We should get out and find clean water, bandages.”

“Yes,” Henry agreed. “Yes, of course.” Now that he thought of it, parts of him hurt appallingly.
Even in the semi-darkness here, he felt as if he was still on fire. He let Bessie go at last and tried to collect his wits.

Crow took him by the arm, but holding only the cloth of his sleeve, not touching his skin. “Come on. Lucien knows the way.”

It seemed like a long time, but perhaps it was no more than half an hour before they were standing in the street. The lamps were lit and gleaming in the dark, shedding pools of gold on the snow. Icicles sparkled from roofs and gutters. There were a few carriages and hansoms around, and they could hear harnesses jingling, hooves muffled in the snowdrifts that were still fresh and untrampled.

In the distance people were singing.

Crow, the least disreputable-looking among them, hailed a cab. They all piled in, although with difficulty. Henry needed a little assistance.

“Where to?” Crow asked.

Henry gave him James Wentworth’s address.

Lucien began to protest.

“According to the driver, it’s Christmas Eve,” Henry told him sharply. “You’re going home. Where you go after that you can choose, but tonight you owe us this.”