The Magnificent Lizzie Brown and the Devil's Hound (10 page)

Just then, the lookout noticed Lizzie and Malachy approaching. He nudged his companion, who turned to look, then hastily hid the sack behind his back. The lookout folded his arms and glared at them.

We're just two kids walking by a canal
, Lizzie thought.
What are you going to do, eh?

The man with the sack quickly fished a bright metallic object out of it and threw it in the muddy water. The object caught the sun as it sank, making a warm flash of gold.

“Did you see what that was?” Malachy whispered.

Lizzie stared at the ripples. She was almost positive that it was a horse brass.
In fact
, she thought,
I'd swear to it.

They were only a few yards away from the two men now. Both men stood their ground, blocking the path. The younger one had his arms folded across his chest, while the older man slowly rolled up his sleeves to reveal thick, hairy arms.

“Morning,” Lizzie said.

The men didn't reply.

“What are you doing?” she persisted.

“Mindin' our own business,” said the younger one. “Why don't you do the same?”

“Get lost,” added the other.

Lizzie wasn't having that. “I saw you. You were chucking things in the canal. What were you doing that for?”

“That's for me to know and you to wonder about, you little brat,” sneered the lookout. “You keep asking questions, you'll feel the back of my hand.”

“That's no way to speak to a lady,” Malachy said. “You need a lesson in manners.”

“Lady!” Both men laughed. “That ain't no lady. Your girl's a grubby little ragamuffin.”

“She's not my girl. And you take that back right now.” Malachy's fingers tightened on his stick. He was white with anger. Lizzie knew, in that moment, that Malachy would attack both of them without any care for his own safety.

“That was a horse brass you threw in the canal, wasn't it?” Lizzie stepped toward the man who had the sack to show him she wasn't afraid.

“I don't have to tell you nothing!” the man snapped.

“Where did you get it?” Lizzie asked.

“Come on,” the lookout said. “These two are trouble.” He tugged his companion's arm and tried to leave.

“Oh, no you don't!” Lizzie saw the sack wasn't quite empty. “Open up that sack. Show us what's in it.”

“Not likely,” the man growled. “I said, come on!”

“Give it here!” Lizzie yelled, grabbing hold of the sack with both hands.

The man ripped the sack away and gave her a hard shove. Lizzie staggered back a few steps. Her arms windmilled for a second as she struggled to regain her balance, then she fell backward, and the freezing cold water of the Grand Union Canal engulfed her.

Everything was muffled and echoey under the water. She heard Malachy screaming her name, but it sounded like the distant tolling of a bell. She gasped, but instead of air, a mouthful of filthy canal water filled her mouth.

I'm going to drown
, Lizzie thought.

Panic siezed her. Gagging and choking, she kicked and flailed her arms. Children from Rat's Castle didn't learn how to swim, and Lizzie was no exception. By sheer good fortune, her head broke the water and she managed to draw a lungful of air. Malachy was there, holding out his stick, yelling for her to grab hold of it.

Even as she floundered, Lizzie knew she had to keep track of the two men. She saw them running away down the path, the sack bouncing on the man's shoulder.

She tried to yell to Malachy but started to sink again. Stinking green water washed into her mouth and nose. Before she could stop herself, she'd breathed it in and felt herself going under . . .

Lizzie's clothes billowed out around her as she sank. Her feet brushed the bottom. The water of the canal wasn't deep, but it was deep enough to drown in.

Something hard suddenly prodded her in the ribs. Her mind flashed back to the man poking the clothes under the surface with his foot.
He's trying to drown me!
she thought in a panic.

Lizzie grabbed at it, thinking she'd drag him down with her, but her hands closed on a wooden pole. As her last breath bubbled up around her and her mind sank into roaring blackness, the pole lifted.

Suddenly, she was breathing air again. Lizzie coughed foul water from her lungs and clung onto the pole. Her vision cleared enough for her to see Malachy gripping the other end of the pole, pulling her toward land.

Malachy grabbed her by the shoulder and hauled her, limp as a half-drowned kitten, out of the murky water. She doubled over on the stones and coughed up what felt like a gallon of liquid. Fireworks were going off behind her eyes.

“I thought I'd lost you!” Malachy walloped her on the back, trying to drive the water out of her lungs.

After the fourth or fifth smack, Lizzie begged him to stop. “You're going to break my spine,” she gasped.

“We need to get you somewhere warm and dry,” Malachy said, looking worried. “You're shivering!”

Lizzie was freezing, but she barely even noticed. She was trembling from shock, not from the cold. Those men hadn't pushed her in as a prank or out of spite. They had been trying to kill her! “What ha-happened to those two blokes?” she asked.

“They raced out of here,” Malachy said, making a sour face. “Lucky for us they did. Or they might have tried to finish both of us off.”

Lizzie glanced back at the canal, desperate to know what they'd been throwing in there. “I'm sure that was a horse brass they threw in. We could fish around, see what's down there . . .”

Malachy pulled her away. “Oh, no. You're not going back in that water. I'm taking you back to the circus.”

Lizzie shook her head. “No,” she said. “Let's go to Becky's farm. It's closer. And there are some things she needs to know.”

* * *

Dressed in some spare dry clothes of Becky's, Lizzie huddled by the fire, grateful for its warmth. She could still taste the canal water every time she sniffed.

Becky looked much happier than she'd been when Lizzie first met her. Obviously, the message from her dead father had put her mind at ease.

“Becky . . . there's something I've got to tell you.” Lizzie had to get it out quickly, before she lost her nerve. “Your pa spoke to me again.”

“Really?” Becky looked delighted, but when she saw Lizzie's solemn face, her smile vanished. “What's wrong? He's not upset with me, is he? I've worked so hard—”

“No! Nothing like that,” Lizzie said. “I think he might not be at peace.”

“I don't understand.” Becky looked upset.

“We went up to the cemetery to investigate,” Malachy said. “There were two men there. We think they were digging.”

Malachy told the whole story, right up to the part when they escaped. Then Lizzie took over. “As soon as I touched the horse brass, I saw your father,” she said. “He was so upset — he kept shouting, ‘Thieves!'”

“You think someone's robbed my father's grave?” Becky's unbelieving sob was horrible to hear. “But why? He was poor. He didn't have any jewels, only Dandy's other brass!”

As she watched her friend's face crumple in tears, Lizzie decided she was going to bring the grave robbers to justice, no matter what. “I don't know,” she told Becky. “I can't make sense of it. Perhaps they mistook his grave for someone else's?”

That could explain why the men were throwing the things into the canal
, Lizzie thought.
In the dark of the cemetery they thought they'd found gold, but it had turned out to be just a horse brass.

“There's something else, isn't there?” Becky whispered. “What aren't you telling me?”

Lizzie sighed. “The two men who pushed me into the canal? I'd swear they were the same two men from the cemetery. They were throwing things in the water. Clothes, and something that looked like . . .”

“Like what?” Becky grasped her hands.

Lizzie knew she had to say it. “Like a horse brass. I'm so sorry.”

Becky closed her eyes as fresh tears rolled down her face. Then she stood up and quietly crossed over to the window, where she stood looking out at the farm.

Lizzie sat in silence, wondering if she'd done the right thing. Maybe it would have been kinder not to tell Becky the truth. She would have been none the wiser.

“Thank you,” Becky said. She turned around. Her eyes were red, but the tears were gone. “My father fought for this farm, did I tell you that? The canal people tried to force him to sell it when I was a baby. They wanted the land. But he held his ground, for my mum's sake, and for mine. I think I've cried enough. It's time I started fighting.”

“We're going to the cemetery again tonight,” Lizzie said. “If we find anything, I'll come over and tell you.”

“You won't have to,” Becky said. “I'm coming with you.”

“You are?” Malachy asked, looking shocked.

“Just try and stop me.” Becky glanced up at the shotgun that hung over the fireplace. “If some gang of grave-robbing lowlifes really has disturbed my father's rest, then they're going to pay. I'm going to help catch them.”

“Let's all meet up in Lizzie's caravan after tonight's show.” Malachy sprang to his feet. “Speaking of which, we need to get back. You're performing tonight.”

“Oh, don't remind me.” The thought of embarrassing herself again filled Lizzie with dread.

* * *

Lizzie walked back to the circus with Malachy reluctantly. If only there was some way she could get out of her commitment. She considered telling Fitzy about her near drowning but decided against it. He had enough on his mind already, and she'd given her word she'd perform.

“Penny for your thoughts?” Malachy eventually said.

“I wish I just could wave a magic wand and make Erin's wrist better,” Lizzie said. “All those people looking at me — I can't stand it.”

“You'll be fine,” Malachy said.

“But I won't, Mal! I can't do the routine, and it's no good pretending I can. I'd be better off as a clown than an equestrian. I should have taken JoJo's part, not Erin's!”

“Hmm,” said Malachy.

“What?” Lizzie was suspicious. “I know that face.”

“What face?” Malachy asked.

“You're scheming,” Lizzie replied.

“Never mind,” Malachy said breezily. “Just an idea.”

“What idea?” asked Lizzie.

“It doesn't matter.”

“Do you want to get pushed in the canal too?” Lizzie said half-seriously. “Spit it out!”

“All right!” Malachy laughed. “Maybe, instead of trying to do Erin's routine the way she does it, you should mess it up on purpose. Play it for laughs. Then Nora can do the tricks properly.”

Lizzie thought about it. “It's worth a try. I dunno if I like the idea of being laughed at, though.”

“And another thing. Since you're talking to dead people now, why don't you do seances?”

“Seances?” Lizzie repeated.

“You know, shows where you contact spirits. They're all the rage in London society. It's in the papers.”

“For money?” Lizzie said.

“You could make a fortune.” Malachy winked. “I'm sure my pop would be happy. Imagine if you could comfort more of the Beckys of this world and make a few dollars doing it!”

“I dunno.” Lizzie kicked a loose stone into the canal. “It doesn't feel right to me, making money off of people's grief.”

“It doesn't stop undertakers, does it?” Malachy said. “If nobody died, they'd be out of a job.”

Lizzie silently forgave Malachy for being so pushy. She knew he was worried about his father's debt. Besides, he was probably right. People would pay handsomely for messages from beyond the grave. But Lizzie knew in her heart it wasn't something she should profit from. Her powers were for doing good in the world, not for making money.

I bet people would pay anything to see their loved ones again
, she thought.
I know I would. If I could just see my ma again or my brother . . .

Then it suddenly flashed upon her, a thought so simple and so powerful it stopped her in her tracks.

Maybe I can!

Back in her trailer, Lizzie quickly changed into her mystic robes. Even with tonight's performance ahead of her and the graveyard trip after that, she still had to put in her shift as the circus fortune-teller. “You're the Magnificent Lizzie Brown,” Fitzy had reminded her more than once. “People come a long way to see you.”

But the idea she'd had was still weighing on her mind. Lizzie rummaged through her few possessions, looking for the most precious treasure of them all. It had to be here. It couldn't have been lost.

Suddenly she remembered. Of course — she'd left it under her pillow. Lizzie went to her bed, and there it was, a decorative tortoiseshell comb missing a tooth. As Lizzie held it now, she remembered her mother putting her hair up with it, singing softly to her all the while.

The comb, and those memories, were all she had left of her mother. Lizzie was lucky it had been in her hair when she'd fled Rat's Castle. She'd left all her other possessions, few though they were, behind.

There was no time for dawdling. Her shift was about to start. Lizzie ran to the fortune-telling tent, praying no customers were waiting for her. To her delight, there was nobody there. She had a few moments to herself.

Lizzie sat quietly, holding her mother's comb just like she'd held the horse brass. Part of her was worried that it wouldn't work . . . and part was worried that it would. What if her mother wasn't at peace? Maybe it would be better not to find out.

At first, nothing happened. Doubts swirled in Lizzie's mind. She'd had the comb for years now, so maybe it didn't count as her mother's anymore. She stroked the comb, remembering she'd done that with the brass.