A Study in Darkness (8 page)

There were only so many reasons a couple moved up a wedding date. And now it seemed that Tobias wasn’t such a reluctant bridegroom after all.

Damn him! Damn him, damn him!

NICK HOOKED A KNIFE AROUND THE MAN
’
S THROAT BEFORE
the fellow even knew he was there. The blade kissed the skin, denting it without drawing blood—though an unlucky twitch could alter that picture. The moonlight gave few details, but sight wasn’t everything. Nick felt the man’s surprised start and the jump of his pulse as his heart began to race. There was the rasp of breath, the hot slick of sweat despite the chill air. The tall, slender man at the sharp end of the knife was afraid and doing his best not to show it.

Sensing the advantage, Nick’s own body tensed with the primitive thrill of the hunt, but he forced reason to the fore. The moment was too dangerous for anything but cool calculation. Maybe that’s why the man didn’t die when his fingers crept toward the gun strapped at his side.

“Come now, none of that,” Nick said in the same low, calm voice he used on nervous horses, and pressed the knife deeper into skin. He was shorter than the man in his grip, but could tell he was easily the stronger. “Gunshots attract attention.”

Not that there was anyone around—at least no one that he could see. The stinking tannery—set outside the city for obvious reasons—sat silent. The yard was filled with vats of noxious substances—urine, brains, lime, and who knew what else. Hides cured in the malodorous brews, adding
their own rotting scent to the air. Anyone lurking in the yard to catch Nick at this rendezvous had probably passed out.

Except this fellow, who raised his hands in the traditional gesture of surrender. “Right enough.”

“Who are you?” Nick demanded.

“The Schoolmaster.”

That was the name Nick had been told to expect. “I’ve never had much to do with school. What do you want?”

“There is a need for your services. An urgent one.”

“For me, or for the
Red Jack
?”

“We need you, your ship, and your crew. The job’s going to take finesse as well as speed.”

Which meant it wasn’t going to be easy. Silence fell as Nick allowed himself a moment of reluctance. He heard his second in command moving over the rocky soil, making sure the Schoolmaster had come alone. He wasn’t likely to find anyone—there was little to no cover. A few stubborn shrubs grew here and there, but otherwise the land was barren except for the factory walls and its yard full of toxic vats. Even the aether was deserted. Nick had the power to sense nature spirits—the elemental devas that lived in wild places—but no such spirits were anywhere near the place. The tannery had killed the land, and that left him uneasy. No one liked lingering near a corpse.

“Striker?” Nick called.

“There’s a vehicle by the gate with some bloke in the back trussed up like a holiday goose.” The man’s rough voice came out of the darkness, as welcome to Nick as old, comfortable boots.

“The word was for you to come alone,” Nick growled into the Schoolmaster’s ear. “Or was he the real Schoolmaster and you’re someone else?”

“He’s not a person,” the man’s tone was icy. “He’s a package for delivery. We need you to take him to where he can be questioned at leisure.”

Nick pressed the knife a little closer. “You didn’t answer my question.”

There was a beat of silence before the man answered. “Then dangle me in front of any member of the Steam Council,”
the Schoolmaster said dryly. “If you want confirmation of my identity, just listen to their howls for my blood.”

“Fair enough. A little melodramatic, but to the point.” Nick eased the pressure on the blade just a fraction. “What did your package do?”

“Many things. Most recently, he tried to blow up Sherlock Holmes. If he’d been successful, he would have killed the detective and his niece.”

Evie
. That got Nick’s attention. Even the oblique mention of her made his jaw clench. But there were so many layers of anger and frustration and desire surrounding her memory that he ruthlessly pushed thoughts of her away. That was quicksand he didn’t dare step in while there were drawn weapons in play.

“How very uncivil,” Nick said sarcastically, lowering the knife and allowing the man to turn around. “Now start explaining what this is all about.”

“Do I have your word that you’ll hear me out before you refuse the job?”

“I’ll give you one minute to state your case. I’ve found it unwise to stay in one place too long. It’s not safe for me, nor for anyone I meet with.”

In fact, after cutting the
Leaping Hind
free, Nick had left Captain Hughes and his ship on course for an easy landing just south of the city, but they were never seen again. That bothered him more than he cared to admit, and he wished he’d taken the time to question the man named Bingham.

“Fine. I won’t take more of your time than need be.” The man turned. The light of the waning moon washed the scene in a ghostly light and outlined the Schoolmaster’s long features. He was older than Nick by a few years, his curling hair topped by a low-crowned hat. Wire-rimmed glasses shadowed his eyes and gave him a bookish air. He looked harmless enough, but Nick didn’t buy that for a moment. He’d lowered the knife, but he wasn’t putting it away.

Striker stepped out of the shadows but stopped a dozen feet away, waiting in case he was needed. His hair stuck out at all angles like a startled hedgehog, framing a blunt-featured face dominated by shrewd, dark eyes. His long
coat, covered in bits of metal from top to bottom, glinted dully in the moonlight.

They stood in silence for a moment, but then the Schoolmaster spoke. “Right. We need the package taken to a certain location. There, you’ll pick up cargo and take it to another location, unload it in secret, and deliver certain items safely over a land route. But I’ll be frank—there are those who would dearly love to get their hands on some of the shipment. There could be danger.”

“There’s always danger. People don’t hire me to deliver the mail.”

“You’ve made quite the name for yourself in a few short months.”

“It’s a living.”

When Nick and Striker met the crew of the
Red Jack
, the vessel had been all but done in. The design was old, the balloon leaky, and the boilers starved for a reliable supply of fuel. The Steam Council’s stranglehold on coal had crippled even the pirates. The captain had sold the
Red Jack
and her crew for a pittance. But Nick had money and magic and Striker knew machines. Within weeks they had turned the ship around and made her the new terror of the skies.

“Where do you want me to take the prisoner?” Nick asked. If the man had endangered Evelina Cooper, he’d toss him to his death for free.

“Do I have your word of honor to keep this in confidence?”

Both Nick and Striker nodded. Discretion was just good business.

“North, beyond the Steam Council’s reach.”

That meant the Highlands—a fair distance to dodge enemy ships, but nothing Nick hadn’t done before. “And what am I picking up?”

The Schoolmaster made a face. “Are you planning to do this? If not, you don’t need the details.”

Nick wanted the details before he made up his mind, but he shrugged. He’d thoroughly researched the Schoolmaster before agreeing to this meeting, and all his contacts had
vouched for the man’s credit and his character. He was prepared to move on to the next steps. “What’s the pay?”

“We don’t have a lot of gold, but we have technical expertise. There are makers who can repair your ship.”

It was a good offer, but not one he needed. “I have Striker. He’s as good as any maker alive. We work for expenses and a cut of the profits. Or didn’t they tell you that at the Head?”

The Saracen’s Head was the tavern where Nick did his business in London. It was hardly a gentleman’s club, but it worked just as well for making useful professional contacts.

“We’re not selling,” said the Schoolmaster. “There is no profit.”

“Then what’s the cargo?” Nick asked.

The man frowned, obviously wishing to share as little as possible. “Mechanical parts. Gears, wheels, springs, pistons—more or less the type of goods you move already. Mostly German made.”

“But you’re not selling it?” Nick persisted.

“These are relief supplies,” said Striker in a knowing tone. “You’re running parts for the resistance.”

For the first time, anxiety showed on the man’s face. Joining the resistance was as good as treason. It wasn’t something a person let slip lightly. “The parts are relief for the poor. The nights are growing cold. No one can pay what the Steam Council asks.”

“You know they’ll off any backstreet carpenter they find building a windmill or a waterwheel,” Striker said darkly. “I know. I used to break bones for the Gold King.”

The Schoolmaster gave him a sharp look. “I’ve heard about you. You’re the streetkeeper who bit the hand that fed him.”

“Beat me, more like—and, yeah, I bite.”

“Enough to take a job aimed at driving a spike in the underbelly of the council?”

Nick and Striker exchanged a look. Taking a job for rebels upped the ante. Resistance business meant there would be more danger, just as the Schoolmaster had warned. All of the steam barons had combined forces, forging an army dedicated to wiping it out. That wasn’t the same as dodging
the odd excise patrol. It would be a hell-for-leather bolt for their lives.

Plus, there was no real money in the job, and a smuggler had to be practical.

Nick named a sum for expenses. “Plus ten percent of the value of the goods. It’s not our problem if you want to give them away.”

“Don’t you care that the widows and orphans of Whitechapel are freezing in the dark?” the man countered.

Of course Nick did, and it was a tribute to his concern that they’d take the job at all. Perhaps that shipment of parts would save a hundred families, but there was a very good chance at least one crewman would die. That was worth something, too. “I’m a smuggler, not your bloody nanny.”

“Expenses plus five percent.”

“That barely pays for beer.”

“I’m not a charity for drunken pirates.”

“And I’m the one with the ship.”

Nick knew Striker would follow his lead, but he still wanted some assurance the other man was in favor of the scheme. Striker raised his eyebrows, as if to ask what Nick was waiting for. His second in command had the kind of grudge against his old master only years of disrespect—followed by a taste of real freedom—can produce.

It was up to Nick to balance a hatred of the Steam Council with the good of the crew—and it was that ability to keep a level head that made him captain. “Seven.”

“Done.” The Schoolmaster looked pleased, making Nick think he should have gone for eight.

“Not so fast,” Nick said. “I still want to hear exactly what you want before we shake on it. I want to know where exactly we’re supposed to go.”

The man let out a sigh. “When you drop off the package on the Isle of Skye, you will pick up cargo—one man and a number of crates. You’ll land near Exeter. Your, uh, guest and most of the goods can be left there. Others will take on the task of distribution. But as discussed, some of the cargo must reach London safely, and I know you have the means to achieve that.”

“That’s a hundred and fifty miles,” muttered Striker. “That’s a stretch even for our means and ways.”

“How much time do we have?” Nick asked.

“As little as possible. There are things which cannot progress until your task is complete.”

“What does that mean?”

“Nothing that affects your role—that much I can promise.” The Schoolmaster cast a glance over his shoulder. “The next piece of business is getting the package to your ship.”

“Can the package walk?” Striker asked.

“He’s been heavily sedated. Feel free to use the vehicle. I’ll collect it after.”

Nick gave Striker a nod. They’d come over fields from where the ship was tethered, but a carriage could follow the road partway there. The big man in his metal-encrusted coat disappeared. Not long after, Nick heard the rumble and hiss of an engine. It wasn’t a horse-drawn vehicle then, but one of those Steamers that seemed to be everywhere in London—and which Striker delighted in stealing for recreation.
Interesting. If he has a Steamer, my new boss has money. How did he get mixed up with rebels and Whitechapel widows?

“Is there anything else you need to discuss?” the Schoolmaster asked.

Nick’s body tensed before he even thought to answer. He held up a hand, silencing the man. Then he made a subtle gesture to either side.
Visitors
. They must have been hiding well if Striker hadn’t found them along with the Schoolmaster’s package.

The other nodded, slowly sliding the gun from the holster under his coat. Nick’s skin chilled at the flat anger in his eyes. All of a sudden, the Schoolmaster didn’t look so bookish anymore.