The Friday Society (26 page)

“But . . . it’s a man’s name.”

“No kidding.”

“You can’t be a man.”

“I won’t be a man, I’ll just have a man’s name. It’s unique.”

Nellie rolled her eyes. “That it is.”

Hey now!
“I didn’t make fun of you for your choice . . .”

“My choice is fantastic. Why would you?”

“Are you saying my choice isn’t?”

“I’m just sayin’ . . .”

“Fine I’ll be just Hyde then. No ‘Mr.’ Is that better?”

Nellie looked at her in a way that suggested she didn’t think it was.

“I want to be Hyde, and that’s my final word on the matter.” The funny thing was, of course, that Cora hadn’t been particularly married to the choice, but now she felt a need to defend her decision.

Nellie raised her hands. “Okay, fine!” And she was back at the trunk, standing over it, hands on hips, examining the contents. “Any idea of what you’d like to wear?”

Indulge her, after all, this was all your bright idea, and anyway, isn’t this better than her wanting to bow out of the whole thing?
“Well . . . I know I’d prefer to wear trousers.”

“And it makes sense, what with bein’ a man and all.”

“I’m not being a man.”

“So you’ll still wear a corset?”

“Well, yes. It’s only decent. But look, don’t bother about trousers. I’ll have to have some custom-made or alter an old pair of Barker’s or something. No one has trousers my size.”

Nellie turned to face her . . . holding up a pair of trousers in Cora’s size.

“Where’d you get those?” Cora stood in shock.

“My old burlesque costume. Played boys so that the men in the audience could see the shape of my legs.”

“You played the breeches’ part?”

“You know the term?”

Cora nodded and walked over to Nellie. The trousers were indeed short breeches. They’d hit her midcalf. She could wear a pair of riding boots, though, to make up the difference. She reached out to touch them. They were thick, made from a tough brown tweed.
Perfect. Just perfect.

“Thank you,” she said as she took them from Nellie.

“I’ve got a top I think you’d like, too . . .” Nellie said it kind of singsong, in the way a rider might coax a young horse out into the training ring. It was Cora’s turn to roll her eyes.

“Yeah?”

“It’s in the other trunk.”

There was such joy in the way Nellie opened the other trunk that Cora couldn’t help but start to find the playing dress-up game not completely intolerable. It was becoming . . . dare she think it? . . . fun. She glanced over her shoulder at Michiko, who had laid herself down across the bed on her left side looking . . . well, there was no other word for it . . . bemused.

“I wore this while playing a pirate wench. It’s real leather. The tanney had a wee bit of a crush on me. Only girl who got real leather. Buckles in the front, makes you look right tough.”

It was a full corset made of brown leather, a shade or two lighter than the trousers. There was no boning, but the leather was thick and the three straps that buckled around the waist with three solid brass buckles that looked like they’d cinch a person in well enough. It was something different, though, wearing one’s underwear on the outside.

It’s a costume, Cora. Like what Nellie wears onstage. Perfectly proper in that way.

“This is a good start,” said Cora, taking the corset.

“I’ve got some feathers if you’d like to glam it up a bit . . .”

“No,” said Cora quickly. “No, I think this will be good for now. I can figure out the rest. Thanks.”

Nellie nodded and seemed quite content. “We’ll have to make sure to hide our faces somehow. Don’t forget that bit. You know,” she said, closing the trunk, “maybe this isn’t a bad idea after all. Like you said, Cora, we’ve got the goods, and we’ve been practicin’ for this kind of thing for years. And I might have faced death, but as you say, I didn’t die. I saved myself. With your usual helpful distraction.” She gave Cora a wink. “Now, with these disguises, no one’s reputation will get hurt, and we can save the city while we’re at it.”

“I know we can do it,” said Cora.

“We can.” Michiko joined them, and Cora had to admit that it was nice to know the girl with the really sharp sword agreed with her assessment.

“Okay, the next step is to collect our gear and meet up at the old Tower Subway entrance. One hour from now. Everyone good?”

Nellie and Michiko nodded.

“Good. I’m . . . really happy we’re doing this. You know, getting to know both of you recently has been a real treat and I—”

“Cora?” said Nellie.

“Yes?”

“Save the speeches for when we win.”

45

Preparations

C
ORA SLIPPED INTO
her bedroom without anyone in the house noticing her return. She rifled through her closet as quickly as possible and pulled out her plainest and most practical shirt, a very basic, thick, long-sleeved, off-white cotton. Then she went through her options for outerwear. She’d need something large enough to hide all the stuff that she was planning on bringing with her. She decided on the long leather jacket she’d made Barker give her last year. He’d bought it for himself, but it ended up being a few sizes too small. She knew it’d be a bit bulky for her, but there was something about having a leather jacket like that that had always appealed to her. She’d never, of course, worn it before. She tried it on. It was big. But it would do. For now.

She grabbed her riding boots and bundled everything all together in her arms, then she made her way as quietly as she could to the library and waited impatiently for the dome to open, hoping to remain undiscovered. She didn’t want to deal with anyone right now. She’d rather be yelled at upon her return than questioned right now about going out. Anyway, Lord White was quite probably still at Parliament, and she hoped that she would be able to avoid—

“Cora, love! Thank goodness. You’re okay!”

Damn
. “Yes, Mrs. Philips, I’m fine,” she said as she was smothered by the housekeeper in a tight hug.

“I sent Barker to fetch you from Westminster hours ago, but he said you weren’t there. Oh pet, I’m so happy to see you all in one piece. What’s all that you’re carrying?”

My supersecret disguise that I’ll be wearing when I become my alter ego, Hyde, and take on the Fog.

“Nothing.” She climbed up into the dome and started to make her way downstairs.

“Cora, love, what are you up to?”

She stopped so that her head was just peeking over the edge of the globe. “I can’t tell you, Mrs. Philips. But I’m going out tonight. And I really have to get ready.”

“Not tonight, Cora. Not tonight,” said Mrs. Philips, her voice shaking slightly. “Not when the world might end. Stay in with your Mrs. Philips and have a cup of tea. Don’t go out. It’s not safe.”

Cora knew deep down that as much as Mrs. Philips cared for her, she was also speaking out of fear for herself. She wished she could have stayed for the housekeeper, to keep her company, to tell her it would all be all right. But she’d have to bear hurting Mrs. Philips at the moment so that she could protect her in the long run.

“I . . . can’t.” She quickly ran down the steps into the lab without giving her a second look. She even closed the dome behind her, just for good measure.

Cora dropped the clothes on the floor and took a good look about the room.

First thing, she’d use her new invention for sure. She walked quickly to her cubby and pulled out the goggles. Not only would they be useful underground, in the dark, they’d serve as an excellent mask. Practical and fashionable.
Excellent
.

Next, she collected some small tools and a tool belt to put them on. But it just didn’t seem like enough. She placed her small pistol among the objects, and as she did so, she remembered her experience in the graveyard. Three against one and her little gun. It wasn’t going to be enough. Not nearly.

She needed something more, something . . . impressive.

Cora looked toward Lord White’s armory. Its doors seemed formidable all of a sudden. But she had to protect herself. She had to protect the girls. She’d promised.

She walked over with a confident stride, trying to convince herself that this was the right thing to do. She flung the doors open wide and stood, hands on hips, examining her choices. The problem with many of the weapons before her was that they were either not powerful enough, little better than the pistol she already had, or too unwieldy to carry. But there was one gun, one that would suit her purposes, if she dared.

The Chekhov was a beast of a weapon. Large, like a miniature cannon. Of all the possible choices that Cora could have made, it seemed, at first glance, the least practical. But first glances don’t tell the whole story. The most impressive element of the Chekhov was neither its size nor its awe-inspiring capability for destruction. It was the mechanized system Lord White had invented so that it could be taken apart and stored about one’s person, and then, by means of an electromagnetic current, reassemble itself at the push of a button. Thus, despite its size, the Chekhov was the perfect weapon for Cora to carry on this particular mission. But first. She needed to get dressed.

Trousers.

Shirt.

Boots.

Leather corset.

Goggles (the normal setting, not the night vision, not yet).

She examined her reflection in the glass cabinet that held Lord White’s more explosion-y materials. Okay, she looked kind of good. Even though that wasn’t the point. She grabbed the leather tool belt and strapped it around her waist, her little pistol sitting nicely on her left hip. Next . . . well, next, she had to take apart the Chekhov.

She lifted the massive gun off its pedestal as gently as she could and carried it to the worktable. On the bottom side of the weapon was a very small button that would deactivate the magnet inside. She just had to be careful not to push the large button on the side that might otherwise set it off.

She found the small button.

There was a clunking sound, and, almost with a sigh, the gun broke into lots of smaller pieces.

Cora went back to the arsenal to retrieve the gun’s very specifically designed holster and brought it back to the table. There was a folded paper inside the holster that contained illustrated instructions of where on her person she should put each piece so that the gun could fly together properly. It was important that the main section, which housed the magnet, was correctly positioned so that the electromagnetic charge would activate nothing but the other pieces of the Chekhov. It was a complicated set of instructions, and Cora couldn’t help wishing she had someone to help her distribute the items about her person. But she figured it all out eventually, and soon she was covered in the shiny metal pieces.

She looked at herself again, and this time she almost let out a gasp. She kind of looked . . . not-human. Like one of those mechanical toy men she’d seen at the gala last week. She lifted her arms. They were much heavier now, and covered in metal. She twisted her torso. She was able to move reasonably well; it wasn’t bad. After all, this weapon was meant to be brought onto the field of battle, and Lord White had spent close to two years perfecting the way the gun could be taken apart and automatically put itself back together. Designing the look of the reconstructed gun and its firing mechanism had been relatively easy by comparison.

She’d need to practice moving about in the getup she was wearing. So she’d be better prepared for the next time.

Next time?

What are you planning exactly, Cora?
she asked herself.

She didn’t know. She didn’t have time to know. She grabbed the leather jacket and threw it on over the whole ensemble. It covered all the pieces of the gun very nicely.

She took off her goggles and placed them in the jacket’s deep pockets.

Now she was ready to go out into the real world.

* * *

M
ICHIKO HADN’T NEEDED
to prepare much. She had a light bite to eat, to keep her energy high, and decided to take two daggers as well as the Silver Heart, which she carried on her back. She took a moment to meditate. To focus on the task ahead and to digest—not so much the food that she’d just eaten but the conversation she’d had with her two new friends in Nellie’s room.

This was difficult, being a team. It wasn’t what she was meant to do; it wasn’t how she was meant to act. But going it alone had not proven to be successful so far. Once this mission was completed, once she’d defeated the Fog with the other girls’ help, she could return to her solitary life. She could fulfill her quest to become a true samurai. In the meantime, well, there was something about Cora’s enthusiasm that had been almost mesmerizing.

Also, it had been kind of fun watching Cora and Nellie come up with their costumes, which were a little like hers. Granted, the way Nellie wanted to dress seemed silly to Michiko, but the idea of using everything at one’s disposal to defeat one’s enemy was familiar to her. Loud yells, distraction, the unexpected. And there could be an advantage to Nellie’s having her legs free beyond just her ability to climb. It would be very distracting to the opposite sex, and therefore a huge advantage for the three of them.

She still wasn’t quite sure what the Silver Heart had to do with anything, why she’d had to reveal the name of her sword to them.

“Silver Heart!”
Hayao appeared from the shadows in the alley. Speaking of which . . . Michiko had thought he might show up, but had hoped he wouldn’t.

“Little monkey, go home. I’m busy.”
She walked past him, trying to indicate that she wasn’t kidding around.

“Where are you going? What are you doing? Who was that girl? Can I come with you?”
he asked, keeping pace with her.

“Go home.”

“I could help. You know I could!”

Michiko stopped dead in her tracks and whipped off her mask so that he could see her expression.
“You can’t come. You must stay home. Your master orders you so.”

Hayao’s face fell and his whole body deflated. He looked so sad, so pathetic, that Michiko almost wanted to take it all back. But she knew he couldn’t come with her. And this would be a good lesson for him. In discipline.

“Well?”
she asked.

“Yes, Master.”

“Go home now.”

She started walking again, and after she’d gone a block, she turned to see if she’d been obeyed.

He was gone. The street was deserted.

Michiko glanced up.

She wasn’t entirely convinced that the rooftops were as well.

* * *

N
ELLIE ATTACHED THE
wire rope to her hip, a little box that held two flashcubes and some matches, and another that contained a special and unique compound: a combination of glitter and a green copper powder that the Magician used for some of his pyrotechnics. It was poisonous, so Nellie handled it with gloves. Then she thought that gloves might add a nice finishing touch to the whole ensemble, so she found a pair of black leather ones she wore in the winter.

She was admiring her whole outfit: the corset, short black skirt, the fishnet stockings (silk stockings would be too slippery to do real climbing), the gloves, the boots, and her various tools at her waist, plus a black mask framed with dark blue feathers—when the Magician walked into her room.

Normally he knocked, but he didn’t this time. There was nothing she could do, but just stand there in her getup and stare.

“Interesting look. Is this for the show?” he asked casually.

“I didn’t think there’d
be
a show tonight, what with the death threat and all.”

“Then what’s this costume for?”

Right
. She hadn’t thought the answer through. Now she had no excuse. She didn’t know what to say. She just sort of shook a little.

The Magician smiled and sat down in her chair. “I’m sorry. I’m being cruel. This . . .” He gestured toward her. “This is all because of Miss Bell’s plan, is it not?”

Now she still didn’t know what to say and so continued to stand there and shake a little.

“She wanted my advice about you. I said I couldn’t say anything. It seems you decided her idea was a good one after all.”

Nellie nodded.

“This outfit, it needs a bit of work, but it will do for now. You need better shoes, better gloves. Everything needs to be more durable. Next time.”

“What do you mean ‘next time’?”

The Magician shrugged. “Maybe you could make a real difference. You like to help people. Maybe this all makes sense.”

“You approve?”

“I do.”

“You aren’t worried?”

“I am.”

“But—”

“But we don’t live our lives in fear. And we don’t stop ourselves from doing the right thing even when it might be risky. Costumes, masks, props—it’s not a bad idea to be prepared. You’ve made wise choices in the past. I trust that this one is wise, too.”

“I’m scared.” She felt tears welling up inside, though she wasn’t sure if it was from fear or from the kind words the Magician had just shared with her.

“Good. Be scared. But still be strong.”

Nellie nodded.

The Magician rose and came over to her. “I shouldn’t have come in. I should have hidden in my room until you left to meet the others. I just wanted to tell you I was proud, but now you are . . . sad?”

Nellie shook her head. She couldn’t speak. She couldn’t say anything. It meant the world to her that Raheem was proud of her. That he approved of this madness. But, of course, he would. He was a hero, too, in his own way.

“I’d hug you, but . . .” She looked down at her outfit. It wasn’t conducive to hugs.

“It’s okay.” The Magician smiled. “Hold out your hand.” She did. He placed what looked like a tiny brass funnel in it. It was no larger than her palm.

“What is this?”

“I bought it last week, thought it could be hidden up a sleeve. Here, you attach this to it.” He produced a long thin tube and a small metal canister. “Very dramatic. It shoots fire. An awful lot of fire. Like a dragon roaring. A nice effect. A nice weapon for you, maybe.”

He attached the canister to the small of her back. They readjusted her corset so the tube could run up it on the inside and then down her arm, plugging into the small funnel, which she hid inside her glove. “You pull this chain here to activate the fire, and release it to make it stop.” He indicated toward a metal hoop dangling from a short exposed chain on her left side by the canister.

“Wear this,” said the Magician, handing her one of his black capes. “It’ll hide the canister, and a cape can always be useful.”