Odette Speex: Time Traitors Book 1 (30 page)

His expression of mild interest had not changed, as if he were listening absently to a conversation between friends.

The carriage rolled to a stop on a quiet side street. Odette leaned back and reached for the door, opening it. Her foot was on the first step when he said placidly, “I have a saying, “Wise men don’t need advice—”

“I know! I know!” she blurted out, her frustration bubbling over, “You’re the bloody wisest man on earth! Okay. I know! All I ask is that you watch your back!” And with that, she was gone.

*

Wu had endured several hours of silence from Fancy since the morning’s confab in the sea-green parlor. Now out on their scouting mission, she finally deigned to speak to him—albeit in monosyllables.

“Nope,” she answered briskly when he asked if she had overheard anything useful among her former colleagues working the environs around Golden Square where Charles Drake had taken up lodgings.

She had returned from skulking around side streets and outside of taverns in hopes that some snippet of conversation might prove useful. Wu maintained watch on the fashionable second-story apartment they knew to be Drake’s place of residence. He had hoped that by giving Fancy the most active and interesting task it might soften her mood. It was an obvious maneuver that she clearly disdained.

Wu closed his eyes briefly to center his thinking. When touring the city out of necessity or his own amusement, he often avoided this area. The sadness was like a light mist that engulfed him and left a thin film of grief over his skin. It didn’t surprise him to learn that these buildings had been erected over a centuries-old pest field. A graveyard, where hundreds, if not thousands, of plague victims had been buried.

He opened his eyes and said in a hollow voice, “He is dead.”

Fancy was startled into using full sentences. “Who is dead?”

“Charles Drake.”

“How can you know that?” she challenged, an angry, defensive edge to her voice.

Wu looked at her so she could see his face clearly beneath the wide brim of his hat. His eyes were a lightless black, and his features seemed carved in stone. “The dead have spoken,” he replied flatly.

Fancy felt her skin crawl and responded with forced bravado, “That’s just creepy, Wu.”

He blinked and breathed deeply. The light returned to his eyes, and he smiled wearily. “I am sorry, Fancy.”

He looked up into the cloudless sky. “I am also sorry if you found my efforts to protect you offensive.” She looked back at him speechless, so he continued, “As a precept, I feel everything around me, the living and sometimes even the dead. In this crowded city, there is a constant stir of emotion so that I sometimes long for the isolation of the monastery. But here, also, I perceive lives, essences that bring me much joy. Yours is one of them. If I were to wake one morning and not feel you alive in this world, I do not know if I could be happy again.”

“Damn it, Wu!” she choked out. “That ain’t fair!” She threw her arms around his neck and cried into his shoulder. They made a funny sight, two scruffy urchins holding each other tightly. Fortunately they stood in a darkened alleyway, the dank atmosphere and unsavory smell assuring them privacy.

Fancy felt Wu stiffen. “What is it?”

She looked back in the direction he indicated. “It’s that bloody Marquis of Ridgeleigh goin’ into Drake’s lodgings.”

They both watched as he glanced slyly around before pulling a key from his pocket and opening the door. They looked at each other grinning.

“I’m no precept, but he’s up to som’em.” Fancy practically laughed, well aware that they had finally caught a break.

*

The old man’s breathing had become labored. The stale air and perpetual chill of the damp and windowless room seeped into his bones and lay unresisted in his lungs. Even with Odell’s blanket atop his thin frame, the gray pallor that was not there just the day before crept steadily up his hollow cheeks.

His condition had worsened in the last few hours. Odell had no idea where he had come from, but it was clear his captivity was of long standing. Two of Professor Bradley’s henchmen had brought him in the day before on a stretcher. Odell, whose bonds had once again been loosened, moved the old Chinese man to the narrow bed that he had occupied. He sat on the edge of the bed and tried in vain to coax him into eating.

“I know it isn’t too appetizing,” he said, holding a bowl of cold chicken broth in one hand and a spoon in the other, “but it is nutritious.”

The man’s eyelids never fluttered, and Odell set the bowl down on the floor. He had tried several times over the course of the night to get him to eat or drink something. Odell was exhausted and afraid the old man might die without medical assistance. But his urgent pounding on the door and shouted pleas yielded no response.

He rubbed his eyes and got up to stretch his tired limbs. He paced the small room keeping time with an old nursery rhyme he had learned as a child.

“Oranges and lemons, Say the bells of St. Clements,” he muttered, coming up against one wall and turning around. “You owe me five farthings, Say the bells of St. Martin’s.” Turn and pace. “When will you pay me? Say the bells of Old Bailey.” Turn and pace. “When I grow rich, Say the bells of Shoreditch.” Deep breath and five jumping jacks. “When will that be? Say the bells of Stepney.” Run in place. “I’m sure I don’t know, Says the Great Bell of Bow.” Turn and pace. “Here comes the candle, to light you to bed, Here comes the chopper, to chop off your head—”

“The English are a strange people, don’t you agree?”

Odell turned rapidly, only to see the unmoving form of the old man. He looked intently at the thin lips and was finally rewarded with another utterance.

“A nursery rhyme for children both soothes and threatens. Terrible tragedies—plague, execution—are blithely added to a simple rhyme and repeated over and over until they are barely noted.”

His voice was steady, if weak. He didn’t open his eyes, and he lay very still.

Odell walked to the bed and sat down on the edge. “Would you like some chicken broth? It might make you feel stronger.”

The withered lips smiled faintly. The old man turned his head on the pillow and opened his eyes. Odell sat back, startled. They were blue. Not the milky, opaque blue of cataracts, but the deep blue of a mountain lake. They were tired and strained but full of intelligence and, at the moment, humor.

“I am a vegetarian.”

Odell practically laughed at the absurdity of it. “I can’t imagine it has served you well in these circumstances.”

The smile deepened. “You are under a misapprehension. I am not dying of starvation, or any form of abuse associated with my captivity.” His eyes roamed around the room. “Indeed, these walls cannot hold the spirit. I think had I not already been quite ill, I would have found it restful.”

Odell frowned. “What illness?”

The old man waved a listless hand and dismissed the question. “It hardly matters. What does, Mister Speex, are your actions.”

Odell sat back, immediately suspicious. “How do you know my name?”

“You have caused a great deal of trouble that others are now trying to undo.”

“My sister.”

“You know she is here then?”

“I know that it is impossible.”

Master Yuan closed his eyes and sighed. “And yet, you lie.”

Odell opened his mouth to speak but closed it again and stood up.

“You know that if history has been altered,” the old man continued, “she may not have died at birth.”

Odell paced the length of the small room and came back to stand next to the bed. “It is not only that she died,” Odell told him painfully. “I would have died too. Her death was literally my salvation.”

“She is here to save you again, Odell,” Master Yuan’s voice was barely a whisper. “You know what it could mean if she succeeds?”

Odell nodded curtly.

“Will you have the strength to tell her?”

“It is the least I can do.”

Chapter 33

Gabriel sat at
Caroline’s bedside. “Mother and Barbara are fine,” he said conversationally. “But I’ve convinced them to visit Aunt Agatha in Suffolk for the next fortnight.” He enveloped one of her delicate, pale hands in his two large ones. “Johnson can look after the place, and I’ll pop in from time to time to make sure he is not lacking in anything.” Caroline lay peacefully but unresponsive.

He felt a gentle hand on his shoulder. “Nurse believes she is suffering from shock.”

Gabriel reached up and brought Odette’s hand to his lips. She leaned down behind him and wrapped her arms around his neck bringing her cheek alongside his. “She doesn’t want to wake and find Aamod gone.”

“I can hardly blame her,” he said with muted emotion. He stood and turned to put his hands on Odette’s shoulders. “Is everything in place?”

She nodded decisively. “Yes.”

Odette smiled remembering Wu and Fancy’s triumphant return. All discord between them swept away in an afternoon of discovery and frantic tracking. They had followed the Marquis of Ridgeleigh from the apartment on Golden Square to Bond Street near Piccadilly where he had made some purchases. He then passed much of the afternoon at White’s.

The difficulty for Wu and Fancy began after he left White’s in a private carriage. Even with London traffic it was difficult to keep pace with the coach, and it soon became evident its destination was not close at hand. It was Fancy’s idea to flag down the driver of an empty vegetable cart.

“You should have seen his face.” Wu laughed. “She just stepped out in front of the horse. When he stopped she jumped up beside him, dropped some coins in his hand and told him to follow the coach!”

“Well, I’m sure
that
arose no suspicion,” Cara remarked, amused.

Fancy merely shrugged her shoulders. “What does it matter? Time is short. We had to know where he was going.”

As it turned out, the vegetable cart was the perfect cover. And the driver, his goods already sold, was more than willing to make some extra money. By the time the coach relinquished it passenger in front of a sprawling estate near Clapton Pond, he had taken almost all of their money.

Gabriel, slouching back comfortably in a large armchair and rather spent from his exertions of the last twenty-four hours, sat up abruptly. He dramatically slapped his forehead with the palm of his hand. “Clapton Pond! Of course! Lord Winter has a manor house in Hackney near Clapton Pond!”

“Hardly an address for the best of
ton
,” Geoffrey interjected doubtfully.

Gabriel stood and excitedly paced the room. “I know. But it is not his main residence. Years ago…” He looked uncomfortably around the room. “…when I wanted to learn more about him, I discovered something of his financial worth. He actually won the estate in a card game from the son of a rich Huguenot merchant. He’s hidden it as best he can from his creditors.” He shook his head. “I’d almost forgotten.”

The discovery of the Hackney residence sent them scurrying into action. Wu and Fancy had surveilled the house before returning. They had counted five guards. All of them were large and well-muscled men who fit the general description of the ones who had attacked them on the two previous occasions.

That had been over an hour past. The evening was now well advanced as Odette and Gabriel stood together next to Caroline’s bedside. Their plans were haphazard at best. But they all felt the urgency, as if a noose was tightening around them and the opportunity for action was fast disappearing.

Odette leaned her head against Gabriel’s chest and felt the warmth of his arms encircling her. “She has sacrificed too much.”

He rested his cheek on the top of her head. “Let’s make sure it isn’t in vain.”

*

Odette crouched with Wu and Fancy behind the hedgerow bordering the stone wall on the western side of the property. It was a moonless night, and the hunted foraged with guarded confidence. Odette couldn’t remember the last time she had heard chirping crickets. But here the cacophony of these nighttime creatures was practically deafening.

In this rural part of the city, some of London’s most affluent merchants built sprawling and elegant estates. Of these, Lord Winter’s was among the least manicured and well maintained. Given what Gabriel had revealed of his lordship’s finances, Odette wasn’t surprised to see the gardens gone to seed and the masonry cracked and crumbling. It was all to their advantage, however, as the miscellany of neglect gave them plenty of cover.

The journey from Curzon Street to Hackney had been unintentionally comical. The coach was full even before picking up Simon and Cyril. Odette sat wedged between Gabriel on one side and Wu on the other. Fancy was between Wu and the carriage, plastered up against the window. Simon and Cyril sat on either side of Cara, each trying unsuccessfully not to jostle her in any way. Cara, as usual, sat with majestic calm, perfectly dressed and coiffed and exuding feminine charm. Odette took it all in and wondered silently at the sheer insanity of what they were attempting.

They had stopped the carriage several yards short of the main gate. Partially obscured by a large willow tree set back from the road, it was hard to distinguish even a vague outline in the darkness of a new moon. There they had conducted a final huddle, Tom jumping down from the driver’s box to join them.

With a flurry of butterflies in her stomach, Odette reviewed the plan. “Cara, you and Tom stay here as lookout. If you see anything suspicious, you know the signal.” Tom put two fingers alongside his mouth and silently mimicked a whistle.

“Great.” She looked at Gabriel, who was busy with Simon and Cyril dousing their coats with alcohol. Something they had courteously refrained from doing until after the carriage ride. Loosening a few buttons on their shirts and mussing up their hair gave the final touches to a trio of drunken young bucks.

Odette smiled at their self-conscious laughter and said, “Okay, okay, you guys have been drinking, not bathing in it.” She breathed in deeply to settle her nerves. “You three will create a diversion at the front door, while Fancy, Wu, and I try to enter the house from the kitchens. From what we know, staff is limited to around five guards. If at any time there are signs of trouble or you feel in danger, just retreat. Meet us back here at the coach.”

Gabriel was inclined to look mutinous at the mention of retreating and leaving Odette inside the house, but nodded his head in unison with the others.

Now, from the cover of the hedgerow, Odette heard the three men laugh raucously and pound loudly on the door. She, Fancy, and Wu crept closer to the house until they were just behind the stables. Finally they heard the front door open, and Gabriel announce in a loud, slurred voice his intention of speaking with his father, Lord Winter.

“Do you think it will work?” Odette had asked during one of their earlier planning sessions.

“Work?” Gabriel had answered and shrugged his shoulders. “It will certainly get their attention. If we make enough of a nuisance of ourselves, some of the guards should at least come to throw us off the property.”

Hoping he was right, Odette watched as Wu moved soundlessly past the stables. He looked quickly in at the darkened row of stalls before moving on to the house. Odette and Fancy soon joined him at the back corner next to the weedy kitchen garden.

Raised voices and angry shouts were evidence that Gabriel and his friends had successfully created a scene. Odette could see no activity at the back entrance and hoped all the guards were investigating the disturbance in the front.

They stood flatten into the English ivy that clung to the walls. Wu leaned close and pointed up. Odette and Fancy followed his finger and saw light peeking out from between the curtains of the upstairs windows.

“The stalls are full,” he whispered. “There is some sort of gathering.”

“Bloody Hell and Coal Fire!” Odette swore under her breath. “How could we have missed it? How many do you think are here?”

“I can’t be sure. Some could have left their carriages close by and entered on foot. They must have arrived after Fancy and I left.” He frowned contemplatively. “The darkened stable and lack of coaches indicate some secrecy is entailed.”

The shouting rose louder at the front of the house, and Odette could hear Lord Winter’s imperious voice among them. “This man is an imposter! I have no son!”

She gritted her teeth thinking of Gabriel’s shame and humiliation. “There’s nothing for it. We’ve got to do it. Let’s go!”

They ran for the kitchen door. Just before reaching it, Wu abruptly turned away and gestured them toward the base of the kitchen stoop. They crouched down behind the stairs next to a rusty iron grate.

“What is it Wu? What’a ya doin’?” Fancy exclaimed impatiently.

He pointed down at the grate. “This grate covers a window.”

On closer inspection they saw that he was right. The window was barely above ground with the grate acting as camouflage. Wu slipped off his black jacket. He wrapped the heavy material around the flaky, rough bars and pulled. It barely moved in the soft, damp ground. Odette and Fancy grabbed hold, and all three pulled hard. After several tries, it finally came free of the ground exposing the window.

Using the noise from the shouted argument as cover, Odette kicked in the window with her boot and slid through the narrow opening. She was quickly followed by Wu and Fancy.

*

Odell heard the clink of broken glass and stood up from the bed. A single candle guttered in a pool of wax and cast a barely perceivable speck of light into the chill gloom. He walked to the door and strained his ears to hear muffled footsteps and finally a whispered voice at the door.

“Odell?”

A girl’s voice. One he had heard only in the imagined memories of the womb.

“Odell?” she said again, more forcefully.

No. A woman’s voice. He shook the ghost from his head. She sounded like his mother—their mother.

“Yes,” he croaked. Then cleared his throat and said more strongly, “Yes.”

He heard a relieved exhalation and then a boy. “Stand back.”

Odell moved away from the door. He heard a muffled conversation from the other side.

“Wu, you ain’t got enough room.”

“The power is in the kick. Not momentum.”

The door came crashing inward, and three people rushed into the cramped room. Odell experienced a moment of complete disorientation. Three boys stood on the threshold, one was Chinese. All were dressed entirely in black. One of them threw his arms around Odell’s neck and cried into the shoulder of his dirty white shirt.

“Odell! Thank God!!” the woman’s voice sobbed.

He put his arms awkwardly around her and patted her back. “Odette?”

She stood back and wiping tears from her eyes looked up at him. Odell could hardly breathe. Her face was dark, delicate and fine-boned. His mother’s face—with golden eyes.

How does one get golden eyes?

His dazed mind reeled.

“Odell!” She had him by the shoulders, shaking him. “Odell! I know it’s a shock. You… I mean… the future you… told me, you… the now you… might not understand what is going on—”

“I bet he did,” Odell interrupted sarcastically. He blew out a little gust of air and took her hands in his own. Laying them against his heart, he said, “I’m alright, Odette. It was a shock, but I’m fine now. The same, however,” he continued sadly, “cannot be said for my companion.”

Odette looked over his shoulder at the shrouded figure on the bed. Wu already knelt beside the body of his master, his head bent and a hand resting on the cover.

“Oh, no! Wu! Master Yuan!” She ran to him and knelt beside the bed.

Wu looked at her, grief-stricken. “He is no longer here.”

“A pity,” boomed a voice from the doorway, “but he was a meddlesome little chink.”

They whirled as one.

“Sir Brandon!” Odette exclaimed, recognizing the King’s advisor from his one and only appearance at the ballet.

“Professor… what?” Odell declared, directing a penetrating look at Odette. “What did you call him?”

“Sir Archibald Brandon. A member of the King’s Privy Council and rumored spy…” her voice trailed off as the implications of Sir Brandon’s presence became clear. As if the gun to Fancy’s head wasn’t already a dead giveaway.

Odette looked at her friend expecting to see an expression of terror, but was met instead with a look of self-satisfaction. “I told ya the mastermind-like was from the future.” She smiled smugly, and then grimaced as Sir Brandon yanked painfully at her arm.

“Shut up, you little whore,” he sneered. He was accompanied by two armed guards. “Take them.” He jerked his head in the direction of Odette, Wu, and Odell. “And keep the little Chinaman in front of me. He is by far the most dangerous.”

One of the guards grabbed Wu by the arm and pushed him out into the hallway. The other took Odell.

Sir Brandon motioned for Odette to follow. “I trust the gun to your friend’s head will keep you from doing anything foolish.”

She nodded agreement and stepped in front of him out into the narrow hallway.

As they walked along the passage, Sir Brandon kept up a running commentary as if he were a congenial tour guide.

“The Huguenot family who built this manor could not leave behind their religious paranoia. For this reason, the house is riddled with hidden passageways and rooms. It has, of course, proved most useful as has its owner. Lord Winter’s alcohol-soaked brain is the perfect tool. But really he’s only one step below the rest of the peerage. It took me only a few years living among them to realize they were the perfect sheep. Certainly much more manageable than the individuals spawned by the Enlightenment and the American Revolution.”

They entered a narrow, twisting stairwell that Odette assumed was one reserved for servants’ use. Going up several flights of stairs, they emerged into a hallway and were ushered into a small withdrawing room.

“Right now,” Sir Brandon continued, as his guards bound their hands and feet, “half the heirs to the realm are in the adjacent ballroom.” He gave a big guffaw. “The Knights of the Messianic Order! They are all decked out in robes and intoning nonsense grieving for their lost leader, Charles Drake.”