A Heartless Design (6 page)

He wasn’t long in the army before he gained the notice of a few particular people. As a commissioned officer, he was given tasks somewhat different than the enlisted men. When he proved that he could be trusted to perform those tasks, he was given other, more mysterious jobs, and he quickly found his strength. Sebastien Thorne was a good soldier, yes. But he was an exceptional spy.

Thorne didn’t know exactly what event attracted the attention of the group he now worked with. But one day, he met another officer named Julian Neville. Neville told him the story of the Zodiac, a small group of agents dedicated to protecting the Crown of England against all enemies. The history of the group stretched back many decades, but there were never more than twelve agents active at any time. If anything happened to make a certain sign available, a new agent was selected after careful consideration. Thorne had been recruited as Sagittarius. He was wise enough to never ask what happened to his predecessor. He was also wise enough to never ask what would have happened to him if he’d refused the honor of joining the Zodiac.

To say that the group was secretive was an understatement. Thorne didn’t even know everyone else who was in the Zodiac. The agents generally worked alone, with only a few trusted contacts. Neville was Thorne’s superior, and he couldn’t imagine a man better suited to be an agent. It was Neville who trained Thorne in the finer points of espionage, and Neville who gave him the missions. In turn, Neville reported to the “Astronomer,” the one who truly ran the Zodiac. Thorne had no idea who the Astronomer was, and knew that he would probably never find out. He didn’t mind in the least. Knowing that he’d been chosen to serve was all the recognition he needed.

It had been over a decade since that first meeting with Neville, but Thorne hadn’t lost his zeal for a good mission. Now, he found the place he was looking for, the Kingston China Company. He found a hiding spot across the street from the doors and hunkered down to watch the warehouse.

As Thorne waited for any sign of life from the warehouse, his mind drifted back to earlier that evening, to the gorgeous creature at Lord Gough’s. She had been a sight to behold, even if she was, as she claimed, heartless. Sebastien smiled into the dark. He wondered if he could change her perspective, given the chance. All that fine skin couldn’t be so cold, even if her heart was. Then he shook his head.

“Stop it,” he warned himself in a mutter. It had been some time since he’d been with a woman. That must be why the lady had such an effect. He must remedy that situation, before he found an excuse to see the heartless beauty again.

Suddenly, he heard voices from around the corner. Ducking down further, he strained his ears to catch any hint that these were his men. The thickening mist from the river distorted sound, but he heard two distinct tones. A pair of men approached the door of the warehouse. He heard the rattle of a key in the lock, and then the squeak of the door. Thorne moved like a cat through the shadows, reaching the door just as it swung closed. He was lucky—the men didn’t check to see if the latch caught on the door. They were not being careful.

Without a sound, Thorne eased the door open again, slipping into the musty smelling warehouse. He heard the sound of footsteps fading away, but he paused to take in his surroundings.

It was definitely a warehouse, but it did not appear to be a well-used one. Wooden crates were stacked in piles, and sawdust and wood shavings, probably once packing material for china, lay scattered across the floor. He narrowed his eyes, seeing where the feet of the men he followed left their mark on the floor. He’d have to be careful not to give away his own presence by disturbing the sawdust. That meant keeping well into the shadows, by the wall…or stepping exactly where his quarry had.

He chose to stay near the wall, and he kept his ears open as he crept through the darkness. He’d covered several yards when he heard a noise behind him. The door had opened again. Sebastien slid between two large crates, hardly daring to breathe. He heard more footsteps, but they passed his hiding spot without slowing. He exhaled slowly.

The latecomer rounded a corner, and a rough voice greeted him. Thorne used the sound to cover his approach. He desperately wanted to hear the conversation, hoping it would relate to the plans he was seeking.

“You got it?” a voice asked.

“Barely. I got into the house, but some little git of a maid heard me and raised the alarm.” The newcomer’s voice was both defiant and nervous. “One of them chased me all the way to the road! I was nearly caught.”

“You deserved to be, if you couldn’t slip in under the noses of a bunch of drowsy chambermaids! You said you could handle this!”

“So I did. More than you can say, since you couldn’t be bothered to do it yourself. Here.” The sound of something hitting the surface of the table echoed through the warehouse.

Thorne wormed his way forward until he could catch a glimpse of the newest arrival through a gap in the boxes. By his profile, he was a middle-aged man, though as thin as a young boy. Candlelight revealed the sheen of sweat on his face.

The mostly-hidden man at the desk opened the package eagerly and began to sift through the stack of papers inside. He unfolded several, putting them aside. As he worked his way through, he sounded angrier. “Something is missing.”

“I got everything in the box,” the thin man protested. “Every scrap of paper!”

“So you say. How do I know you haven’t hidden what I need?”

“I wouldn’t know what to hide! Those scribbles all look the same to me. If you need more, they must be somewhere else in that house. Just tell me where the rest of the papers are, and I’ll go back.”

“They’re alert now,” said the other unseen man. “It’s too late.”

“Look, I can get it. I need the money!”

“Too bad.” There was a scraping sound as one of the men stood up. “Your incompetence has muddled things up.”

The thief’s eyes widened in fear, and Thorne had a moment of premonition. Although he couldn’t see it, he knew the other man was drawing a pistol.

The thief snapped out of his momentary shock, and he turned to run back to the door of the warehouse. A shot echoed through the building, but it went wide of its mark. The thief was still running. Thorne waited as the two other shapes dashed by his hiding spot and left him behind.

He moved like lightning to the table where the men had been, but the surface was empty. One of the men must have taken the papers with him. He swore in frustration.

There was little more Thorne could do inside. He trailed the others out of the building, moving as fast as he dared. Fortunately, he remembered the streets immediately around the warehouse, and he knew where the thief was likely to run. Once he got outside, he slipped into the alley where he had been hiding before, and watched. The thief was nowhere to be seen, but the first two men he’d seen now chased up and down the street, casting about for their quarry. One ran in the opposite direction from the alley, toward the main thoroughfare. The other moved more slowly, walking toward the riverfront. As he went, he peered down the alleys and into the various doorways. Thorne noticed the gleam of a knife blade in the man’s hand.   

Picking up a small stone, he hurled it so it clattered at the far end of one alley. The man heard the sound and moved toward it, not knowing he’d pass Thorne on the way. His eyes flicked from right to left as he walked, but even so, he was very surprised when Thorne stepped out of the shadows and delivered a quick blow to his head.

The man grunted, stumbling backward. Thorne easily grabbed the arm holding the knife and twisted it so that the blade fell to the ground with a clatter. He kicked it, sending it sliding into the dark shadows of the alley. Then he turned to face the man, memorizing his face. At the moment, he was more concerned with the thief, so he regretfully decided that this man could wait.

“What do you want?” the man asked. His voice came out in a sharp whine. “I don’t have any money.” He squinted, trying to see Thorne’s features in the darkness.

“I don’t want your money,” said Thorne. “I want you to be quiet.” Without another word, he hit the man once more, and this time he crumpled to the ground. A quick check revealed that he didn’t have the papers on him.
Too bad
, thought Thorne. He turned around and headed back out to the street, moving at an easy pace, but keeping a sharp eye out for the thief. He was one Thorne wanted to talk to tonight.

He hadn’t gone far when he caught sight of the thin man scuttling down the further end of the street, almost at the river. Thorne didn’t run, but his long legs carried him quickly to the water. The thief saw him coming and halted for a moment. He saw that Thorne was a stranger and not one of his sometime employers, but his natural instinct was still to run when he saw a large, unsmiling man coming toward him. By that point, however, it was too late. The thief turned tail, but only got a few paces when he was seized by the man in the greatcoat.

“What’re you doing? There’s a mistake…”

“Shut up,” Thorne said quietly. The menace in his tone was enough to stop the thief cold. He even forgot to try to wiggle free of that iron grasp. “You robbed a house tonight.”

The man began to deny it, but the words died on his lips when he saw Thorne’s expression.

“Are you…” He frowned. “You’re not with Helm’s gang.”

“Helm? That’s who hired you to rob the house?”

“Aye. Jerrod Helm. He was going to pay me to take a box from this one house. Said it would be an easy job!”

“We’ll talk about this on the way,” Thorne said, prodding the man forward.  “Move.”

“Where are we going?”

“You’re taking me to the house you were trying to break into.”

“Are you working against Helm? Because I don’t want to be in the middle of this…”

“You’re already in the middle of this, friend,” Thorne hissed. “And if you were smart, you’d stop worrying about Helm. He’s not here right now, but I am. And if I decide that you’re not being helpful, I’ve no reason to keep you around. Understand?”

The man nodded quickly.

“Now, where was the house?”

“Pretty far out. On Quince Street. But they’re looking for me!”

“Never mind them.” Thorne looked up the street. “Walk along the river until we get to the next street. Then we’ll pick up a ride. What’s your name?”

“John. John Bailey,” he stuttered nervously.

As they walked, Thorne kept a close eye on his prisoner, even though he made no move to run away. They reached the main street without seeing any sign of Bailey’s former employers. Thorne hailed a cab for hire, and they were on their way, after Bailey was forced to give the directions.

In the carriage, Thorne leveled his gaze on the unfortunate thief. “Tell me what you were after at this house.”

“Helm hired me to break in and take a box out of a study on the ground floor. He said the owners of the house would be gone and only servants would be there. He said it would be easy, and it did look easy. But a maid heard me when I made a noise. Then one of the other servants chased me all the way off the property.”

“What was in this box?”

“Don’t know. Just papers. It was a heavy wooden strong box with a lock. I knew I wouldn’t be able to run with the whole thing, so I pried it open and took the papers.”

“Why would Helm want a strong box of papers?” Thorne had a guess, and didn’t like it. Helm, whoever he was, must have somehow learned about the plans and decided to steal them so he could sell them to the highest bidder.

Bailey must have thought the same. “He’s got his fingers in a lot of pies. He probably wants to sell what’s inside. He’ll sell anything for a profit.”

“Suppose I’ll have to have a word with Jerrod Helm,” Thorne noted. Bailey paled at his tone. “Who were you stealing them from?”

“I wasn’t told any name. Helm just let me know where the house was. Said I didn’t need to know more than that.”

Thorne grunted, thinking. “Why’d he hire you? Why not just do it himself, if he knew where it was?”

“Helm doesn’t get his hands dirty like that anymore. He’s a boss now. Not to mention, he’s too fat to be a good thief nowadays.”

The coach jerked to a stop. Thorne put one hand on the door. “I’m stepping out first. No tricks, or you won’t be getting home tonight.”

Bailey nodded. He climbed out after Thorne and looked nervously at his surroundings. They alighted on the corner of Quince Street, a neighborhood of quiet, stately homes. It was not the most fashionable district of London, being a little too far from the heart of things. But it was thoroughly respectable, and Bailey clearly felt out of place.

“All right,” Thorne said as the coach clattered away. “Let’s go.”

“This way.” Bailey took the lead, walking up Quince Street with a shuffling gait. The silence of the neighborhood at that hour, only shortly before dawn, was almost deafening.

They reached a driveway flanked by two gateposts. On top of each one, instead of the usual eagle or lion, there was a sailing ship wrought in iron. “This is the place?” he asked Bailey.

“Yes, sir.” If Bailey hoped that was all his captor wanted, he was mistaken.

Thorne dragged him forward. “Come on then. I want to see the house itself, and where you broke in.”

His shoulders slumped, Bailey lead Thorne up the drive. He looked like he expected to be attacked by a vengeful butler or footman at any moment, but the stillness was not broken. Soon enough, after they had made their way through a copse of trees that hid the house from the road, Bailey halted. “There it is. The study is at the back of the west wing, just round the corner there.”

“I want to see it.” Thorne noted every detail of the grounds as they crept toward the wing with the study, keeping to the shadows on the edge of the deep green lawn that surrounded the house like a moat. They stopped again, as Bailey pointed. “That’s the window I used. I’d have gotten out all quiet if I hadn’t tripped over the blasted housecat. Look! They’ve left a light burning!”

“They were worried you’d come back,” Thorne muttered. That was interesting. The people in the house either knew or suspected that the thief had not fully succeeded.