The Golden Specific (43 page)

“This young man has been working under false pretenses in my office, he has spread lies about me to others, and he has stolen papers from my files,” Broadgirdle said, his voice hard. “I have no idea what may have been his objective. Blackmail, perhaps. I would not be surprised if he is working for someone else.”

“Leave that to me, Prime Minister, leave that to me. We'll soon discover his sinister motives, be assured.”

There was a scuffling sound as Broadgirdle opened the door and Theo tussled with Officer Bacon, whose meaty hands were as good as his name.

Theo knew the moment the door was opened that he would
not be able to get past the three men, but he tried. He kicked Bacon's thigh and dove under Broadgirdle's arm. Unfortunately, the much more agile Bertie Peel was standing by the door, and he captured him under one bony arm. Bacon, recovered from the kick, snapped a pair of handcuffs onto Theo's left wrist, then yanked backward and seized his right. Theo winced in pain but uttered no complaint.

As Bacon secured the handcuffs, Theo saw Broadgirdle, calm and complacent, his arms crossed over his chest.
I might be as afraid now as I was then,
Theo told himself.
But that doesn't mean I have to be silent like I was then.

It took all his strength to look Broadgirdle in the eye. “I know who you are,” he said, low and unsteady. “You can lock me away, but you can't lock away the truth. And you were wrong. I'm not the same as I was before, because I'm not alone anymore, with no one to tell. Now I can tell people what you've done. Your plans to murder Bligh. Your years as a slaver. The fact that you're not even from New Occident. That you're a Sandman, and that the Sandmen who work for you tortured three helpless Eerie.” His voice had gained strength, and he spoke evenly as he asked, “And once people know, they won't stand for it. Do you think the people of Boston are so spineless that they will fight a war for a scheming slaver from the Baldlands?”

Broadgirdle had watched Theo expressionlessly. Now he gave a hearty laugh. “Perhaps I was wrong, detective, to accuse of him of anything so rational as blackmail. Slaving? Murdering the prime minister? Torturing Eerie? Fates above! Clearly
the young man is mad. You may find institutionalization is the right route for a mind so clearly deranged.”

Behind the velvet curtain, Winnie stifled a gasp. He pressed his lips together and squeezed his eyes shut and concentrated with all his being on staying silent.

Officer Bacon laughed. “Never you fear, Mr. Prime Minister. I'll find the right place for him.”

“And how goes the investigation into Prime Minister Cyril Bligh's terrible murder?” Broadgirdle asked, his voice dripping with concern.

“Very well, Mr. Prime Minister. Very well. Inspector Grey is on the case, and he can be dreadful slow about his investigations, but rumor has it at the station he made a great discovery this morning.”

“Really?” Broadgirdle asked, his voice frankly curious.

“Something to do with a map made of wood?” Bacon chuckled. “That Grey is something else. He finds the strangest things, and then snap—suddenly the whole case comes together.”

“You see?”
Theo cut in. “You thought the Eerie were helpless. But they found a way. Even through the fire and the smoke. That map proves what you did. I saw the screaming girl. Grey will see it too, and you're done for.”

Bacon looked at him, baffled. “Screaming girl?”

“It's true!” Theo said fiercely. “Ask him.”

Broadgirdle regarded him for a moment, mustache twitching. “Another fascinating if rather bizarre invention from this
very imaginative young man,” he said demurely.

“Inspector Grey is on to you,” Theo said, his voice steely. “And he will find out the truth. And he will come after you.”

“I think you'd better take him, Officer Bacon,” Broadgirdle said.

“Certainly, Mr. Prime Minister.” He drew Theo toward the door. “Congratulations once again on your party's success. Enjoy your celebrations.”

 43 

Confessing the Crime

B
Y
THE
TIME
Inspector Grey finished the paperwork for Sissal Clay, placing her in the custody of the warden for the women's prison, he thought he had already heard as many confessions as he was going to hear that morning. He was wrong. Walking back to his office, he found Officer Bacon, one of the policemen he liked least, waiting at his door with a young man in handcuffs. He recognized Theodore Constantine Thackary.

“He insisted on speaking with you, sir,” Officer Bacon said.

“Inspector Grey,” someone called behind him. Grey turned to see Officer Kent approaching, accompanied by Bertram Peel. He had a sense of foreboding, as he had experienced earlier that morning, and he knew that something unpleasant was about to transpire.

“What is it, Officer Kent?” Grey asked warily.

“I have here Bertram Peel, from Prime Minister Broadgirdle's office. He wants to make a confession.”

Grey raised his eyebrows. “Is that so? What do you wish to confess?” he asked Peel, who stood rigidly, thin fingers clenched into fists at his sides.

Peel stood for a moment longer. His eyes were on the floor, his gaze abstracted. Then he looked up. The inspector was shocked to see tears in his eyes. “I wish to confess to planning and executing the murder of Prime Minister Cyril Bligh.”

There was stunned silence in the corridor.

“No!” Theo exclaimed. “He didn't do it. Don't listen to him. It was Broadgirdle who planned it and his guards who did it. He heard me say Inspector Grey had evidence against him. And now he's sending Peel to take the blame.”

“I did it,” Peel said firmly.

“No, you didn't! He's got something on you. What is it? Don't let him push you around like this, Peel,” he said desperately.

“Just as you did not let him push you around?” Peel said quietly.

Theo had no reply.

Grey had watched this exchange without speaking. “Do you truly wish to make this confession, Mr. Peel?”

“I do.”

Theo regarded the thin man who had seemed so ridiculous in his zealousness, his exaggerated self-importance, and his loyalty to Broadgirdle. Peel had no pretensions to
self-importance now. He was just a man who had lived longer with Broadgirdle's bullying. Theo saw, with surprise, a flicker of something like conviction in Peel's eyes, and he wondered what secret—or what person—Peel was protecting. He tried to reach out to him, but his hands were bound. “I'm sorry, Peel. I am truly sorry. If I had not said what I did in the office . . .”

“I don't know what you mean,” he said quietly. “What's done is done, and your words earlier made no difference. One way or another, I would have found myself coming here to confess.” He looked at the inspector. “Shall we continue?”

Grey obligingly opened his door and ushered Peel into his office. “Take Thackary to the jail, Officer Bacon,” he said. “I can't attend to him at the moment. I will speak with him later today.”

• • •

T
HEO
DID
NOT
resist as Officer Bacon led him to the New Jail. His mind was on Peel. He no longer wondered what Peel was protecting; instead, he pondered the steps that would expose Peel's confession as false, so Grey would be forced to turn his investigation to Broadgirdle. He cast about, but no solution presented itself.

As Bacon led him through the cell block, Theo glimpsed its occupants, and his spirits sank. There were men from every walk of life there, to Theo's experienced eye, but they all had one thing in common: stagnation. They had been there some time, and they had no expectation of leaving. Some did not
even glance up as Bacon and Theo passed. The few who did look considered him vacantly, without curiosity.

In that moment, all of Theo's speculations about Peel and Broadgirdle vanished. He had to survive his time in the New Jail without acquiring that vacant look, and he turned all of his attention to the problem. “How long do I have to stay here?” he asked Bacon.

“You'll stay until a judge hears your case, which will probably be tomorrow or the day after. Once a case is assembled they're quick, the judges,” he said with satisfaction.

“But Shadrack Elli and Miles Countryman have been here for weeks.”

“Because the police were assembling the case against them.”

“What about my lawyer?”

Bacon laughed. “If you can persuade a lawyer to take your case, congratulations. But I doubt you will find one interested in petty fraud, which at most will earn him a few bills.”

Theo considered. “So I have to defend myself in court?”

“I suppose you can try,” Bacon shrugged. “It will be an open-and-shut case,” he said comfortably. He stopped, ushered Theo into an open cell, and locked the door. “Hands,” he said, and Theo put them through the bars. “What did you do to this one?” he chuckled, looking at Theo's right hand as he removed the cuffs. “Turn it inside out?”

“Sure.” Theo snapped his fingers into a gun. “It's a trick of mine. I'll show you some time.”

“Oh, I doubt I'll be seeing you again,” Bacon said
complacently. “People tend to get lost here in the New Jail. Look around you,” he said, resting his heavy frame against the bars for a moment while he clipped the keys to his belt. “We're in New Occident, where you can buy anything, including time. Why do you think all these men are in here? Because they can't buy a thing. That's how it goes,” he said amiably. He ambled off, the keys jangling with each plodding step.

Theo stood for a moment in the center of the cell. He closed his eyes, trying to organize his thoughts—trying to imagine the escape route. He could see none.

“Don't worry, friend,” a low voice said nearby. “The officers only ever see one side of this place. They don't know the half of it.”

Theo opened his eyes and turned to the adjoining cell, where a man sat loosely on his cot, his hands resting on his knees. He had Theo's complexion, marking him as an outsider from either the Baldlands or the Indian Territories. His expression was easy, and his face was strikingly handsome—half of it was, anyhow. The right side of his face and neck, his right arm and hand, were disfigured by a gruesome burn scar. “What does that mean?” Theo asked dryly. “The New Jail is fun, and the police just don't know it?”

The man got up. He drew a tattered book with no covers from the inside of his shirt and handed it through the bars to Theo. “It has its moments,” he said with a gentle smile. “Books are allowed.”

Theo took it.

“We pass them around, clockwise. This cell has been empty for a while, so Bullfrog over on the other side of you has been starving for reading material.” He lifted his chin to point to the other cell.

Theo turned and saw a squat man with a forlorn expression.

“So if you could read this one quickly and pass it on, I'm sure he'd appreciate it,” the scarred man said.

Theo looked at the coverless book in his hands:
Robinson Crusoe
. “I've already read this,” he said.

“Perfect,” the scarred man replied. “Bullfrog will be happy to have it. It's an adventure story, Bullfrog.”

Theo crossed his tiny cell and handed the book to Bullfrog, whose expression brightened slightly. “The last book I read was
King Lear
, and it was very depressing,” he said. He immediately propped himself up on his cot and opened the pages.

“How about this one?” the scarred man asked Theo, holding up another coverless volume.

“Lucretius,
The Nature of Things
,” Theo read aloud. “Haven't read it.”

“Excellent.” The man reached through the bars. “I'm called Casanova,” he added.

“Theodore Constantine Thackary,” Theo said, shaking the scarred hand with his own.

“Ah, the dreck writer. We have one of Thackeray's. I just read it last week,” Casanova said thoughtfully.

“No relation,” Theo said with a wry grin.

One half of Casanova's face smiled, and Theo realized the
desperation he had felt minutes earlier had faded, and it had been Casanova's intention all along to accomplish it. “You surprise me,” Casanova said. “Tell me what you think of Lucretius,” he added, sitting back down on his cot. “He rather changed my view of things.”