The Iscariot Sanction (5 page)

The cabman’s wife cuffed her husband once more about the head. Lillian disguised a smirk at the man’s discomfort. Mrs. Dresden, it seemed, was a formidable woman, broad of features, blunt of opinion, and possessed of a strength earned from working the mangle all day long. Jeremiah Dresden, by contrast, was the sort of fellow who stayed quiet whatever the situation, keeping his own counsel whether it was wise to do so, or foolish.

‘You tell this lady an’ her fine gen’leman what you were doing carting a hussy about at all hours,’ Mrs. Dresden barked. ‘And tell me while you’re about it. I didn’t see no extra shilling for the private hire, and I wouldn’a wanted it, neither, had it come about by some disrep’uble means.’ The woman gave an awkward curtsey towards Lillian and her fine gentleman, seeking their approbation.

‘It’s why I didn’t tell you ’bout it, woman,’ said Dresden, sheepishly. ‘I knew how you’d carry on if’n you knew. But we needed the money.’

‘And where is the money, Jeremiah Dresden?’ his wife glowered. ‘I see no coin, and now we have fine folk knockin’ on our door, askin’ us about missing harlots. Why, I curse the day we married!’ She reddened, perhaps fearing she had said more than she could rescind, once this trouble was done with and life returned to normal. Dresden merely stared at his feet.

‘Please, madam,’ Lillian said, ‘I’m sure I speak for both Sir Arthur and myself when I say that we make no judgement on your husband or upon your household. What a man must do to earn a living in these difficult times is his own business. No one is saying that Mr. Dresden was cavorting with ladies of disrepute, nor that he had any hand in the… murder… of this unfortunate young girl, barely more than a child, God rest her.’ Lillian emphasised the words ‘disrepute’, ‘murder’, and ‘child’, which had the effect of turning Mr. Dresden quite pale. His wife’s sharp eyes darted towards him so fixedly that, had she been a Majestic, her husband would have been stricken senseless where he stood.

‘Murder…’ he said, dumbly.

‘Oh indeed,’ Lillian continued. ‘It is almost certainly murder. Perhaps many would not have noticed the loss of another such lowly soul, but this one has been noticed, and has come to the attention of our agency.’

‘Agency?’ asked Dresden, tremulously.

‘A very special agency,’ Arthur interjected. ‘We report to Lord Hardwick himself; perhaps you have heard of him.’ Now it was Mrs. Dresden’s turn to pale—everyone had heard of Marcus Hardwick. The former head of the War Office, a man who had been given his title by Gladstone, on the Queen’s orders, and tasked with restoring order after the devastating effects of the Awakening. The man who, it was whispered, had ordered a thousand tortured souls to vanish without a trace for the ‘greater good’, and who fought every day to destroy the Riftborn that preyed on the innocents of the Empire. At mention of his name, Mr. Dresden gulped.

‘I don’t want no trouble,’ he stammered. ‘I took the job, I don’t deny it, because the gent paid cash up front. I drove him around for a couple o’ hours, and I turned a blind eye to his doings, as is the cabman’s code. Everyone does it, from time to time, when pickings is slim.’

‘Did the gentleman give a name?’ Lillian grew impatient. It seemed that Dresden was stalling for time, perhaps so that his dull mind could come up with some cock-and-bull story.

‘No, but they never does.’

‘So you have done this more than once?’ she said. ‘It is, of course, against the law to engage a hansom on these terms. A fine is the usual punishment, but given the seriousness of the crime…’

‘Please, there’s no need for that. I’ll help as best I can, but I can’t really remember… it’s been a long while, you see, and—’

‘Calm yourself, Mr. Dresden,’ Sir Arthur said. ‘My companion, Agent Hardwick, is simply very eager to get to the bottom of this affair, by whatever means necessary.’

Dresden looked from Sir Arthur to Lillian. ‘Hardwick?’ he croaked.

‘My father would not come all the way out here in person,’ said Lillian, masking her annoyance at the name-dropping. ‘But we do have the power to summon a constable, and take you to him. If we do that, Mr. Dresden, he will have his Majestics help you remember. It would be a great help if you were to comply with them, but it is not without… risks.’

‘Mercy!’ Mrs. Dresden whispered, and sat down at once on a kitchen chair.

‘Wait… wait,’ Dresden said. ‘I think it’s coming back to me. When I picked ’im up, the lamplighters had just done their rounds. I think I did catch sight of his face in the light, just the once.’

‘And?’ Lillian prompted.

‘Tall chap. Thin, too. Little black beard and skin pale as you like. Funny spectacles, he wore.’

‘Funny how?’

‘Coloured glass, like. Red… or maybe purple. The kind you sometimes see blind folks wearin’. But he weren’t blind.’

‘And you’re sure he was a gentleman?’ Arthur asked.

‘Aye, sure as I can be. He spoke all proper, like yourself, sir, only more so, if you take my meaning. And the girl…’ He paused.

‘What about her?’ Lillian snapped.

‘She… she called him “my lord”.’

Lillian looked to Sir Arthur, who frowned. It could have been an affectation, a term of flattery between a bang-tail and her fare; but if not… it was a clue.

‘Where you last saw this man, and the girl he was with?’ Lillian said pointedly.

Dresden paused. His wife prodded him sharply in the ribs.

‘Seven Dials,’ he said at last, sullenly. ‘I dropped ’em at Little Earl Street, and they headed up the alley behind the chandler’s shop.’

‘Is there anything else you can tell us?’

‘No, miss. I swear that’s all I know. I came straight home, and that was that.’

‘You did not take the man anywhere else, except between the Ratcliff Highway and Seven Dials?’

Dresden froze for a moment. Lillian saw something in his eyes—fear, she thought. ‘No miss.’

‘You are quite sure?’

‘Yes miss.’

Sir Arthur handed his card to the cabbie. ‘Mr. Dresden, you have been most helpful. If you remember anything else that may be of use—any detail, no matter how small—please do send a message to my club. If we have further questions… well, you’ll hear from us, in due course.’

Dresden twitched at that. As he took the card, his fingertips brushed against Sir Arthur’s. Lillian noticed that Arthur had removed his gloves, which he rarely did. Dresden flinched as he took the card, as though some electrical charge had passed between the two men. He looked momentarily frantic, eyes skittish.

Arthur turned, and looked towards the back of the room, at an open door through which Lillian could see a poky hall.

‘Arthur?’

Arthur said nothing, but marched through the door immediately. By the time Dresden and his wife mustered a protest, Arthur’s footsteps could be heard on the stairs. Dresden rushed after him, Lillian close behind, the man’s wife hesitantly bringing up the rear.

Lillian followed Dresden into a small bedroom. The man had stopped, half-blocking the doorway, and so Lillian pushed past him, and saw that he was gawping at Arthur, dumbfounded.

Arthur held a large box. By his feet, a rug had been thrown back, and two loose boards removed. Sir Arthur Furnival was like a one-man divining rod at times.

‘Now, what do we have here?’ Arthur said, opening the tin and rifling through the contents. ‘Calling cards, gentleman’s gloves, a silver watch, and… this.’ He held up a small handkerchief, and then winced as some premonition came over him.

‘How did you—’ Dresden started.

‘I warned you about my father’s Majestics,’ Lillian said. ‘Now, what’s all this?’

‘Nothing… much,’ he gulped. ‘A few keepsakes, s’all. Dropped in the cab, like, and never claimed.’

‘And what does the cabman’s code say about lost items, Mr. Dresden?’

‘I… um…’ Dresden was defeated. Even if his crimes were small, he had become embroiled in a bad business, and now crumbled beneath the hard stares of two agents of the Crown, not to mention his formidable wife.

‘Lillian,’ Arthur said. ‘This was hers. And the man she was with that night… he is not a man to be trifled with. I can feel it.’

* * *

‘Well, he was lying when he said he took the gentleman nowhere else,’ Arthur said, as he and Lillian walked along Butcher Row, attracting nervous and curious glances from the impoverished denizens.

‘Really, Arthur, I don’t require your powers to see that. The real question is, why? I’d wager he was paid more than a few extra shillings for his silence.’

‘No,’ said Arthur. ‘I don’t believe it was out of loyalty to a paymaster; he was frightened.’

‘Our man threatened him, then.’

‘Perhaps, though I sense it was something more. Maybe we’ll find our answers in Seven Dials. Or maybe we’ll have to follow through on your threat and bring Dresden in.’

Lillian winced inwardly. She would betray no weakness to Arthur, but she did not relish the thought of condemning Dresden to the attentions of the Nightwatch. The Order’s cabal of pet Majestics were different from Arthur; they would take a man like Jeremiah Dresden apart, piece by piece, until his secrets—his soul—were laid bare. Whether they would successfully put him back together again was another matter entirely.

‘I’d rather you didn’t mention my father during these interviews,’ Lillian said at last. ‘It was unnecessary.’

‘My apologies. It seemed the more expedient method.’

‘It was, but I’d rather you didn’t, all the same.’ She thought of her brother. John lived in their illustrious father’s shadow just as she did, but he had managed to forge a reputation in his own right, despite his youth. John would never use the Hardwick name to further his own ends. He wouldn’t have to.

Sir Arthur softened, and held out his arm. Lillian smiled, and took it.

‘I am yours to command, dear lady,’ he said.

‘Very good. Then hail us a cab, and we shall away to the Dials.’

* * *

John felt himself falling before he even knew that his legs had been taken from under him. He hit the wooden floor of the gymnasium hard, forcing the air from his lungs. The familiar, single clap of hard hands punctuated his dismay.

‘No, no. Again!’

John turned his head with a groan, to see Mrs. Ito staring disapprovingly at him. The diminutive Japanese woman was a curiosity and a terror in equal parts, and John was only thankful that she was not his sparring partner today.

He sat up with no small effort, and pushed himself back to his feet to watch Lillian, just nineteen years old, a head shorter than him and considerably lighter, skipping away on bare feet, looking jolly pleased with herself. He was meant to be teaching her to fight, not the other way around.

‘No laughing!’ Mrs. Ito snapped at Lillian, her harsh accent cutting the air of what she called her ‘dojo’. Lillian straightened her face at once. The other agents sitting around the perimeter of the chalk circle fared less well. Agents Smythe and Hanlocke soon stopped their private joke when Mrs. Ito’s bundle of bamboo canes rapped down hard at their feet, causing them to jump back in shock.

‘Hurry up. Again!’ Mrs. Ito commanded.

They said Mrs. Ito was a hundred years old. They said she had been smuggled out of Japan by Lord Elgin after she had saved the diplomat’s life from a government-sanctioned assassination attempt. They said she had killed three samurai that day with nothing more than a walking stick. But then again, John mused, they said many foolish things at the academy.

He bowed to Lillian, who returned the gesture, never taking her eyes off him. He had got the better of her in all their previous matches, but those defeats had awoken a determination in his little sister that he could barely understand. She trained relentlessly, spending many hours alone. She had no confidant in the academy, so far as John knew, and no one whom she trusted enough to form a sincere partnership with during field tests. However, in just three short months she had gone from timid girl to the best fighter in the class. Smythe had almost had his shoulder dislocated the last time he had sparred with her. She practised the oriental arts of fighting day and night, when she was not improving her marksmanship, that was. But John was no slouch—he had been one of the best before Lillian had become Mrs. Ito’s favourite, and he intended to reclaim his status, beginning today.

The Japanese woman signalled for the round to begin. Lillian struck quickly, as she always did—she knew no restraint, only attack. John parried three swift punches, and knew she would follow with her favoured front-kick, doubtless expecting him to dodge aside into her feint. He did not.

He caught her leg as she kicked, twisting her around and over into a submission hold, but released her at once. In his eagerness to win the round and use his strength, he had been clumsy, and Lillian’s face hit the floor with a thud, causing her to cry out in pain. John released her and stooped to check on her at once. She held a hand to her mouth; her hair had come loose and covered her face.

‘My God, Lillian, I am sorry,’ he said, softly so that others would not overhear and think him weak. ‘Dear sis, I didn’t mean to hurt you. But you are too reckless, and rely too much on aggression. Remember, even if you are the best fighter in England, you’re never alone in the field. The day will come when even you cannot stand alone. But on that day, I shall stand with you. Count on that.’

He smiled at her warmly, and squeezed her shoulder. She looked up at him through strands of tousled hair. He had said that to her many times before; a pet piece of brotherly advice that she had at first loved, but now he thought she sometimes resented.

‘Thank you for that, brother, but today is not that day,’ she whispered. ‘And this round is not over.’

She stood quickly, taking John’s hands away from her and spinning her brother around so fast he did not altogether understand how he came to be upright and looking in the wrong direction. His confusion did not last long.

Lillian kicked John’s legs from beneath him for a second time that afternoon. The last thing he saw before his head cracked upon the boards once more was Mrs. Ito’s look of utmost disapproval…

* * *

John groaned, and touched his fingers to the back of his head, wincing at the sticky fluid he felt there. It was cool—he hoped the bleeding had stopped.