The Friday Society (17 page)

27

. . . But Also This Was Happening

“
I
T ISN’T ENOUGH
time,”
whined Hayao as Michiko ended their second session. She was surprised to hear his frustration. After all, they’d had a very decent first round of sparring, though she’d hardly admit it to him.
“How will I ever learn if I study only a couple of hours every morning?”

“Just as I will learn your fast running studying a couple hours every night. We make do with our situation. We do not complain.”

Hayao sighed loudly and dramatically, and Michiko wondered if he would ever learn how to keep his emotions to himself. Not only was it dangerous to let your enemy know your every thought and vulnerability, it was also just annoying to everyone else.

“What time do you want to meet tonight?”
he asked, handing her back the cane.

“Can’t tonight.”
She slipped it into the bag with the other weapons, closing the bag quickly so Hayao wouldn’t get excited noticing the Silver Heart hidden at the bottom.

“Why not?”

Why not? Because I have to find the Fog, that’s why. I have a goal, and it must be accomplished. And though the running last night was . . . astounding . . . it means I am now a night behind in my search.

“I can’t.”

She hated that she felt guilty about leaving him in the small park as she sneaked back into the house. She hated that she felt like she was letting him down. That wasn’t the way it should be. He should feel bad for making her feel bad. He should be embarrassed by his histrionics. But the fact was, she did wish she could be the master he wanted her to be. In letting him down, she was letting herself down.

Callum didn’t rise until after nine in the morning, so Michiko had some time to sit with Shuu in the kitchen, watch him carefully prepare breakfast in that slow deliberate way of his. She knew Callum couldn’t stand his old servant’s slowness, but Michiko thought it quite beautiful to watch. Like a dance underwater.

Soon, though, the third little bell to the left over the door began ringing incessantly. Though it rang at the same volume no matter how hard you tugged its cord, Callum always seemed to pull on the rope at the far end of the house in his room with as much vehemence as he could, to make sure he got Shuu and Koukou’s full attention.

Michiko had no bell, only—

“Michiko!”

She stood at the foot of his bed and watched him gulp down his breakfast without even tasting it. So much for your efforts, Shuu, thought Michiko.

He’d summoned her to his room, then made her wait until all his food was washed down with hot black coffee. Then he lit a cigarette and exhaled the smoke slowly.

Finally: “We are making a house call today.”

“Yes, Callum-kun.”

“A private teaching session, a family. And you won’t embarrass me.”

Most of his words she didn’t understand, but “embarrass” she did. I won’t, if you won’t. “Yes, Callum-kun.”

They stared at each other, and once again the gaze of his too-round eyes sent a shiver up her spine. “Well? What are you waiting for? Get packing!”

“Packing,” another very familiar word. A little bow, just the head. Nothing more. “Yes, Callum-kun.”

She was used to packing. She knew what Callum wanted to bring along to each particular outing. For presentations, it was weaponry that looked showy and exciting. For classes, usually just sticks—parasols, canes, maybe the pair of wooden training
katanas
. So she packed up the latter, thinking fondly of the Silver Heart, now hidden away upstairs in her wardrobe.

She dressed in her all-black training gear, which she had only just removed from her training session with Hayao, and in short order she was joining Callum in his carriage. He was wearing a tweed suit and shiny leather shoes. Michiko sighed inwardly at how impractical an outfit it was for fighting purposes.

She anticipated a very long day.

28

. . . And Still in the Tree . . .

T
IME PASSED.
N
ELLIE
remained still. People walked below her, had short conversations about the weather and politics—“I say, isn’t the sun bright this afternoon!” “It is indeed, and did you hear about Lord White’s latest push in the House?” “He thinks he’ll be Prime Minister someday . . .” “What a laugh. And isn’t the sky a remarkable blue?” “That it is.”

Finally, the wrought-iron gate to the house opened wide and a steam carriage burst out onto the street like a horse champing at the bit just set loose in the yard. For a moment Nellie was enveloped in the white-hot vapor, then the carriage disappeared down Kensington High Street.

There was no time to waste. Nellie climbed across the long branch until it almost reached the roof of the house. From her belt, she took the long thin rope that the Magician had designed especially for his act. Made of a metal so thin it looked like it would support little more than a feather, the rope, in reality, could haul something as heavy as a piano quite effortlessly. It was so fine that, with the correct lighting, it could make a person hanging from it appear to be floating. This rope was Nellie’s good friend.

She’d attached a small hook to one end, which she now tossed toward one of the chimneys. The hook just missed its target, and she tried again. And again. And again. By the fourth time, she was getting angry, and her hands were shaking now.
Calm down. Breathe if you can. Breathe.
She tried to do some of that yoga-breathing thing that the Magician had taught her, but she didn’t have the patience for it.

And, just as she thought she would have to give up, a little squawk came from above. It was so quiet. A little “psst” in bird form—meant just for her.

Nellie glanced up.

“Well, bless my stars! Sherry,” she said in a bemused whisper. “What are you doin’ here?”

“That’s a laugh,” replied the bird, and flew to her shoulder.

Nellie wanted to scold the bird for following her. And to praise her for keeping herself so well hidden. It wasn’t easy for a creature as brightly colored as Scheherazade to keep out of sight, but she’d done a remarkable job of it. Come to think of it, it was really the first time the bird had ever followed her like that. Nellie was a little proud. And honored.

Then she had an idea.

“Hey, Sherry, do you think you could fly this rope over to the chimney and hook it around?” She realized after she said it that, of course, the bird didn’t understand a word. So she showed her what she meant, hooking the fine rope around a tree branch. Then she released it and tossed it toward the chimney, this time without any intention of getting it to hook on. Just to show the bird what she meant.

Scheherazade watched the whole display intently, but it wasn’t altogether clear if she had any idea what Nellie was going on about.

“Here you go, Sherry, open wide.” The bird knew that order and opened her beak. Nellie carefully placed the rope inside, the hook dangling down to one side. “Now go!”

She gave the bird a little push in the right direction, and Scheherazade took off toward the roof. Nellie crossed her fingers.

The parrot landed on the roof right by the chimney and looked at it. Then she looked at Nellie.

“Go around,” mouthed Nellie, and drew a large circle in the air with her finger.

Scheherazade looked at the chimney again. Then looked at her. Then at the chimney. Then she hopped along around the chimney until she’d made a full circle and dropped the hook on the other side of the rope so it caught it fast. The bird looked at Nellie again, and then at the hook, and then at Nellie.

Nellie tugged at the rope from her end. It was holding fast. She smiled at Scheherazade and said, “Good Polly!” as loudly as she dared so the parrot would hear.

Now all she had to do was swing. Swing so that she was standing on the top-floor window ledge—the servants’ quarters and the one place Nellie knew wouldn’t be occupied this time of day.

Nothing to it.

Nothing at all.

She’d performed such a move a thousand times before onstage.

Though, of course, in the theater she had trained stagehands in charge of the rigging, and here she had only a parrot . . .

This is what they called a leap of faith . . .

29

. . . And Back to Michiko Again . . .

T
HE LITTLE GIRL
wouldn’t stop crying. It horrified Michiko to hear this wailing sound from such a little creature. The girl was sitting in the middle of the large ballroom, mouth open so wide you could count her tiny teeth.

Her mother was alternating between frantic apologies and violent pulls on a long red rope in the corner. Eventually, a frightened-looking young woman maybe only a few years older than Michiko came running into the room. She wore a white bonnet and apron, and she scooped the small child off the floor and exited the room so quickly it was as if she’d never been.

At last there was calm again, and the mother gestured to Callum that they should continue. It had been a basic demonstration: Callum with his cane, Michiko with her parasol, but the small child had found their choreographed fight evidently too traumatic to witness in silence. Now they began again, and Michiko barely focused on the steps she was performing—they were so familiar that she didn’t have to—and instead made plans for the night ahead. She’d definitely be using the rooftops as her highway, but where to begin? That same spot where both the doctor and flower girl had been killed? It didn’t seem likely.

“Michiko!”

Michiko snapped back to attention and saw that Callum was giving her a stern look. “Yes, Callum-kun?”

“Show. Show them.” He pointed to the two girls, around ten and eleven respectively.

“Yes, Callum-kun.” She hadn’t spent much time working with children. To be honest, they kind of scared her. These two, in particular, had very haunted expressions. Their black eyes, which stared at her from under an almost pure white fringe of hair, made Michiko pretty sure they could read her thoughts. Their sad little faces seemed to suggest that they didn’t much like what they were finding.

She gave them each a child’s parasol, objects she hoped they were familiar with, and set them opposite each other. Immediately the younger one whacked the older over the head.

Michiko ran between them. “No,” she said, holding up a finger. “No.” She waited a moment and then took a step away.

The older one whacked the younger one.

Both girls started to giggle.

“Michiko!” called Callum from across the room. She had a sudden urge to throw one of the parasols, spearlike, right between his enraged eyes.

The mother placed a hand on Callum’s shoulder and smiled gently. Michiko didn’t like the look of this woman at all. She was like one of those English desserts with whipped cream and berries and sugar all over the place. A sweetness masking a lack of real substance. She seemed held together by her corset, so cinched she looked ready to burst. Her cheeks a little too red. Her voice a little too high.

She leaned in and whispered something in Callum’s ear. Her red lips grazed his skin. He glanced at her and nodded. Instantly the mother was ushering her children out of the room and Callum came storming toward Michiko.

“Go,” he said.

“Home?” she asked, confused but relieved.

“No, not ‘home.’” He did one of his delightful imitations of her accent in repeating the word. “Somewhere else. In the house. I’ll find you later. Just . . . get the hell out of here.” He hissed the last bit at her, spit flying into her face.

Oh. She knew what was going on now. She had to stay in the house so that she could leave with him. Keep up appearances and all that.

Fine. She’d wander.

Does a samurai warrior peek into private closets?

Oh, who cares?

Michiko was feeling distinctly grumpy.

She made her way down the wide main hall and toward the grand staircase, following it as it twisted upward. The second floor, she hoped, would have bedrooms and the like. She tiptoed past the nursery, where all three girls were now playing happily with their nanny, and crossed over to what was clearly the grown-ups’ part of the house. First she entered what she assumed was the mother’s bedroom. It couldn’t have been anyone else’s—all pink flowers and pillows everywhere. It even smelled pink.

Michiko did a little quiet rifling through the woman’s large closet and couldn’t help but be astounded by the yards of fabric she’d consumed for her clothes. Silks and thick woolen blends, and sheer fabrics that had almost no texture to them. Then there were her fantastic undergarments, made of French lace with bows sewn on all over. And so many different kinds of corsets, all looking rather frightening with their ropes and metal fasteners.

She moved on from the room into what must have been the woman’s husband’s. This was a room that intrigued Michiko much more than the woman’s. It wasn’t the rich green velvet of the curtains or the rather intimidating bearskin rug complete with bear’s head at the foot of the bed that fascinated her. Rather it was the glass case of curios at the far end.

She approached it and peered inside. The man had all manner of objects locked away in there. Two ancient books, so old that they clearly were only held together by gravity, sat side by side with what was . . . well, it had to be, a shriveled monkey’s head. Poor creature. There was an open box with several different stones that glittered inside. A letter that, of course, she couldn’t read, but that must have been written by someone of significance. And more things—some unidentifiable artifacts with sculpted faces on them, a row of buttons, a snakeskin, and at the very bottom, lying flat so that she hadn’t noticed it at first, a silver mask.

It hadn’t been taken care of, was horribly tarnished, so that at first Michiko didn’t even realize it was silver. But when she knelt down to take a closer look, she could see the odd brightness peeking through. Her first thought was of a samurai mask, though this object clearly wasn’t one. It was far less expressive than the mask of the samurai. There was no indication of a mouth, no indication of any expression whatsoever. It only had holes for eyes and and for nostrils, and the skillfully carved decoration over it was not meant to represent a human face. Instead it looked like a face that was covered by delicate sweeping vines, a face that hadn’t been entirely overtaken by nature, but had become one with it. It made her think of O-Ryu, the goddess of the willow tree.

There was a sound from the room next door.

Michiko quickly escaped back into the hall, determined that her nosiness not be discovered. Though she was a little sad to part with the mask. She heard the noise again. It sounded like someone was in the next room. Maybe it was the master of the house himself, but that was odd. She had seen him leave through the front gate directly after she and Callum had arrived through the back.

It was probably just a servant, then, but for some reason, her gut told her to check it out. She approached the room quietly and peered carefully around the open door.

Nothing.

No one.

But she’d heard . . .

She entered what she assumed was the library, or someone’s study, and closed the door behind her. There was a large oak desk at one end, framed by two tall windows. Bookshelves lined the walls, and at the right, there was a large unlit fireplace with a mantel that displayed yet more interesting objects from around the world.

She heard a small sound. This time it didn’t sound human. It sounded . . . like a bird?

And just as she heard it, a curtain twitched.

Okay. Now she just had to investigate. She crossed the room and pulled the curtain back in one quick movement.

It was the blond one. Nellie. Her parrot sitting on her shoulder. Both looked completely dumbfounded.

Why were they here? And why were they hiding behind a curtain?

“You’re probably wondering why I’m hiding behind a curtain,” said Nellie quickly. Michiko understood the gist of what she said and nodded.

“It’s a . . . long story.”

Michiko didn’t know what to say. Or how she’d articulate anything she’d wanted to say in the first place.

“Okay, see, I found out that the dead man, you remember, not the one in the street, the other one, from my place, was a member of the Society of Heroes, and then I found out that Mr. Carter gave a bunch of money to another member of the society, and I was thinkin’ that maybe he had somethin’, some papers or . . . somethin’ . . . that would help me find out what was goin’ on and such.”

Michiko raised her hand to silence her. “Mr. Carter’s house,” she said, pointing down to the ground.

“Yes. I know.”

Michiko nodded. “Heroes?”

“There’s a secret group of scientists. And it’s got somethin’ to do with the dead man in my flat.” Nellie spoke more slowly and Michiko could distinguish each word. It was still difficult to understand. Something to do with science. And Mr. Carter. And a dead man. The dead man Michiko had found on the street? The dead man in Nellie’s apartment? There were too many dead men.

Whatever it was, Nellie clearly thought there was a connection with a dead man and this house and was investigating. But in the middle of the day? And in her underwear?

“Why dress like that?”

Nellie looked at herself then back up. “It’s easier to climb when you’ve got your legs free. And I’m used to doin’ this sort of stuff in my costume, seemed to make sense . . .”

“Costume?”

“Yes. My costume. Or . . . one of my costumes.”

It still didn’t make a lot of sense that she would be in her costume, but it didn’t make sense for Michiko to mistrust Nellie either. What other reason could she have for being in Mr. Carter’s study in her underwear . . . well . . . actually . . .

“Mr. Carter here?”

Clearly the look she gave Nellie was enough to make the girl gasp and then giggle. Nellie gestured for Michiko to come over to the window, which she opened. Then she motioned for Michiko to stick her head out and look up. Michiko leaned out and looked in the direction where Nellie had pointed. At first she didn’t see anything, but she kept looking hard until she saw a fine rope or wire or something dangling down over the roof.

Michiko pulled herself back inside.

“See? I broke in. I wasn’t . . . invited . . . if that’s what you were gettin’ at,” said Nellie with a wink.

“Broke in . . .”
Oh!
She broke in! A bit criminal, but not anything more . . . illicit. She broke in because . . . she wanted to find information about the dead men. Yes, that was it! “Did you find?” she asked.

“Nope, nothing so far,” said Nellie a little sadly. “No papers. At least, nothing important.”

“You think he know? Maybe he know.” It was hard work having this conversation, but for the first time in a long time, Michiko wanted to try. Maybe that had been the problem all along. Not that she couldn’t learn English, but that there hadn’t been anyone she’d been all that interested in having conversations with in the first place.

“He knows something. He got scared when Cora talked to him.” She paused. Then repeated: “Scared.”

“Scared.” Mr. Carter was scared. Yes. He must be. Mr. Carter had hired Callum to teach his family how to defend themselves. He
was
scared. What did scared men do with information . . . “Fire.”

She pointed at the large fireplace and Nellie’s eyes opened wide. Together they flew across the room and crouched, staring into the cinders. Likely all they’d find was ash, but it was worth looking, wasn’t it?

“Son of Mary and Joseph, look at that.” Nellie extended a black-gloved hand and gingerly pulled out a piece of paper that had fallen to the side of the iron cradle that held two charred pieces of wood. It was covered in black, but still whole. Still existed in its paper form, not turned to ash and dust. It was all that was there, but it was something. Something that wasn’t meant to be found and so probably exactly what they were looking for.

Nellie examined it closely.

“You see?” asked Michiko. What had Nellie noticed?

Nellie shook her head. “No. That is to say, I see somethin’, but I can’t tell what. But I can discover what.” She grinned and stood. “Thank you, Michiko.”

Michiko bowed.

And then Mrs. Carter let out a bloodcurdling scream.

* * *

N
ELLIE ALMOST DROPPED
the paper in shock and turned, as did Michiko. The scream had come from downstairs, but it was so ear-piercing that it startled both girls. “What in the name of all that’s holy . . .” Nellie skipped quietly to the door and opened it a crack. A maid flew past just at that moment, but fortunately she was so distracted she didn’t notice Nellie peeking through the door.

“What?” asked Michiko at her side.

Nellie shook her head and opened the door wider. “Go,” she ordered Scheherazade on her shoulder. Miraculously the bird seemed to understand and flew across the room to the open window. Then Nellie and Michiko slipped through the door and, staying flat to the wall in the hallway, made their way to the staircase. Like children sneaking out of bed while their parents had a party downstairs, they peered through the railing.

Mr. Carter’s bloodied body was lying on the marble floor. Mrs. Carter was next to him in a flowing dressing gown, and Sir Callum Fielding-Shaw was standing off to the side, looking so casual he might as well have been whistling.

“Why did you bring him here?” screeched Mrs. Carter at the two men standing in the shadow of the doorway. “Why didn’t you take him to the hospital?”

“’E said take ’im home. So we did.”

Nellie thought the voice sounded very familiar, and she crouched lower to try to see the man’s face.

“Besides,” said the other one, “there ain’t nothin’ for ’im. ’E’s as good as dead.”

“Yes, well, thank you, gentlemen,” said Callum, finally speaking up. He walked over to the door and made to close it in their faces when one of the men stuck his foot in to prevent it.

“I don’t suppose ’e’d be willin’ to contribute in the name of science . . .”

“Whatever are you going on about . . .?”

“’E’ll be freshly dead, see, and such bits of a person could be right ’elpful to the scientific community . . .”

“Get out!” wailed Mrs. Carter. “You vultures, picking off pieces of him . . . Get out!”

This time the door was properly closed, and Nellie knew exactly who the mystery men were. Messrs. Staunch and Proper. Again.