Twincy Quinn and the Eye of Horus Part One (16 page)

Yet my eyes
locked on the city before me.

Though I could
hardly discern them, I tried to stare at the rooftops.

Twincy
Quinn.

Would she be
up there? Or was she really just a legend? Did the lady I had seen
clambering over the rooftops last night have some simple, innocent
explanation for her activities?

. . . .

No, probably
not. She had jumped off the roof and survived, after all.

I would not
solve this case by explaining it away.

So I would
have to solve it the old-fashioned way.

And now,
following my strange conversation with the lord, I was keener than
ever to do so.

Twincy
Quinn

The morning
was a shambles, it always was. When I pried myself out of my room,
and trundled down the stairs, it was to the view of Vanessa giving
one of her usual drill-sergeant speeches.

We had other street urchins living with us. Children that had
been identified by the
suitables
, and that we had managed to
save, and at certain times, simply kids we had brought in before
they had starved.

Well Vanessa
took charge of them.

At all of nine
years old, she used her changes to marshal them like troops. Every
morning she would see to all of the children, ensure they were fed,
and then begin her classes.

Vanessa was
big on education. Indeed, everybody who had been changed was.

Because
everybody who had been changed had gone from being a hopeless
street urchin, to having power thrust into their bodies and
minds.

And it was
exciting to witness the effects of that power. While the devices
themselves were incredible, the knowledge to build and understand
them was far more amazing. And that knowledge could be transmitted;
transmitted without giving one the terrible scars the devices did.
Vanessa could relay what she understood of probabilities and risks
and statistics and mathematics and security to her assembled street
urchins without having to chop off the end of a sophisticated
spotting scope, and clamping it into one of their eyes.

That was the
value of education.

As I walked
past, almost all of the children greeted me with happy waves and
cheers.

Almost all the
children, apart from Vanessa, of course. Who simply afforded me a
low nod and mumbled something about having to have a conversation
with me later.

Grinding my
teeth together, I jolly well hoped she hadn't found out about my
escapades the night previous, though I couldn't help but smile as
soon as I thought it.

I was meant to
be the adult here, right? And I was scared of the
nine-year-old.

Chuckling to
myself, I quickly found some food, forced it into my mouth, drank
down a pitcher of water, checked on John and Carolyn and Ridley,
and then realised I was at something of a loss.

There were
many things I had to do, but all of them involved leaving the
house, and since my failed mission last night, I was nervous to
even step outside.

Because what
would happen if I ran into him again? The handsome man with the
well-kept moustache? The moustache that didn't quite suit him, and
one that made one wonder whether he hid behind it. The man with the
well-polished shoes and well-laundered and oh so well-pressed
clothes, yet at the same time the clothes that didn't appear to be
that expensive, and the shoes that looked as though they had seen
more than one summer?

The more I
thought about him, the more details I remembered. My brain, after
all, had been optimised to take in facts, to take in snippets of
information, to hold them, to store them, and to put them together
to my ultimate advantage.

Yet I could
not see any advantage from dwelling upon this man. No advantage
other than trying to avoid him for the rest of my days.

Feeling
uneasy, I quickly ran a brush through my hair, and found myself
trundling back up to my room to dress. When I reached down for my
usual grey skirts, I stopped.

I could hardly
wear them, could I? Not unless I wanted to be instantly
recognised.

Pushing my
tongue hard against my top teeth, I rolled my eyes.

Then I heard a
soft knock on my door. ‘Twincy? Are you decent?’

It was John,
and he spoke with such an efficient, pressed, and quick tone. He
was the embodiment of the nervous academic, except he was only
seven-years old.

‘
Quite decent,’ I said through a chuckle.

He opened the
door, took several steps in, and afforded me a strict nod. ‘I
believe you require a disguise.’

My lips
muddled into a confused smile, my cheeks pressing high into my
eyes. ‘You do, do you?’

‘
Vanessa has informed me of the despicable Lord Ridley's lies.
He has told London that you are behind these kidnappings, when you
are in fact the sole force attempting to combat them.’

John was
indignant, and as his voice rang out in clear tones, he paced back
and forth, his hands clutched neatly before him, his back straight,
and his shoulders tight and slightly rounded. He looked to be the
perfect picture of an alert, wise man. Or at least an alert, wise
seven-year-old.

‘
So you have a disguise?’ I prompted.

He nodded.

‘
A new dress, a new hairpiece, and some fine jewellery;
jewellery that I think may come in handy,’ he nodded
formally.

One of my
eyebrows arched quickly. ‘New hair and jewellery?’

‘
Do not worry,’ he put a hand up and shook his head offering a
slight frown, ‘the hair is not real, it's a device.’

I let out a
quick laugh. ‘Of course, that doesn't sound like something to worry
about,’ I instinctively patted my real hair—hair that was
thankfully device free. It sat there, became knotted occasionally,
and remained neat when I washed it and brushed it. It certainly
couldn't do anything more than flutter in the wind and occasionally
blind me as it fell over my face. But if John had created hair that
was a device . . . . Oh gosh, I didn't even
want to think of what it could do.

‘
And as for the jewellery, again, please do not worry, my
dear,’ John took a solid sniff.

My dear? He
had taken to calling all of the girls that recently, but it was the
first time he had used that phrase on me. Obviously he had been
reading too many novels or following along after the elite of
London and taking notes on their conversation style. In other
words, he was picking up bad habits.

I wasn't going
to pull him up on it, yet, because I wanted to hear more about this
disguise. In equal parts it intrigued and yet deeply worried
me.

‘
The jewellery is a device also, though of course it won’t be
easily recognisable, unless somebody picks it up and stares over it
carefully.’

‘
I see,’ I said judiciously. ‘And how am I to use
these?’

‘
As a disguise,’ he said patiently, ticking his head to the
side and looking at me as if I were a simpleton. ‘Have you not been
paying attention to this conversation?’

Now I raised
both my eyebrows. ‘I have an idea,’ I said in a light warning tone,
‘why don't you hurry up and show me where these disguises are and
perhaps stop reading so many of those awful books of yours. You
haven't called Vanessa my dear yet, have you? Because you know what
she will do to you.’

John, for a
moment, still had his chest puffed out, and looked pompous, then
his eyes flicked to the side as he clearly calculated that. ‘No,’
he answered, ‘and as for your other question, I could think of many
things Vanessa would do to me.’

‘
Because most women,’ I walked past John and patted him on the
shoulder, ‘and it goes for girls too, don't like being condescended
to.’

For a moment
John looked calculating. ‘Are you sure?’ he questioned as he
flicked his gaze over to me.

I waved over
my shoulder at him as I walked past and out into the corridor.
‘Very sure. Now show me this disguise. There are many things I have
to do, and frankly, it would be preferable that nobody be able to
recognise me whilst I attend to them.’

‘
Then you are going to love what I have crafted for you,’ John
skipped up behind me, for the first time that morning appearing and
acting just as a young child should. With an excited look in his
eye, he reached up and grabbed my hand. ‘I have managed extremely
fine workmanship on these devices. And your dress follows the exact
fashions of Paris at this very moment.’

‘
At this very moment? Are you sure they're not a few minutes
out of date?’ I joked.

His lips
scrunched into a frown. ‘Perhaps you are
correct . . . ,’ he began.

I squeezed his
hand lightly. ‘I'm sure they will be perfect,’ I said in a
mollifying tone.

John quickly
showed me down to the second floor and took me over to the enormous
table that was always littered with his various devices and smashed
up machines. There were boxes of cogs strewn around it. There were
spotting scopes, there were compasses, there was even the wheel of
a cart. Lined up on the walls were various tools, and John was
known to get more than a little stroppy if anyone dared move them.
Right now he led me over, and grabbed at a garment sitting over the
edge of a chair.

John was
hardly tall, especially for his age. So shoving the dress onto the
table, he stood up on the chair, leaned over, grabbed it up, and
revealed it to me with a short chuckle. Patting at the fabric, he
grabbed it by the shoulders and shook it, the skirts brushing
lightly against the edge of the table and the legs of the chair.
‘What do you think? I believe it is my finest work yet. And as I
said, it is all the rage in Paris.’

It was
beautiful.

That was the
only way to put it. John was correct; it was his finest work
yet.

And while
perhaps it was all the rage in Paris, one could consider it
slightly immodest for the streets of London. It had no arms, after
all. Just short, lacy, rumpled sleeves that led down to an
intricately designed bodice, and enormous white skirts with blue
trimming. There was blue ribbon work on the bodice also, and up
over the sleeves, and it was a delicate, entirely lovely
pattern.

‘
It comes with a jacket, in case you get cold, or in case you
find men staring at your shoulders,’ John added.

That made me
laugh, for multiple reasons.

Taking a small
step forward, I reached out, and touched the skirts. The fabric was
beautifully soft to touch.

It really was
a fantastic garment, and more than that, it looked to be
exceedingly expensive. If my usual white lacy number let me settle
in with the crowd, this one would make me stand out, but not in the
way I usually did. If I pranced around London in this, people would
wonder what foreign princess was visiting.

Pressing my
fingers into my lips as though to suppress that pathetic thought,
yet not being able to stop it from making me smile, I finally took
the whole dress from John. Turning it around, I patted it against
my body, staring down at the skirts, and checking how long it
was.

‘
Don't get distracted, Twincy, there is more to come,’ John
jumped easily from the chair, the floor underneath him giving a
stupendous groan as he landed on it. Dusting his hands off, he
threw himself at his table, pushing a whole mound of cogs and
broken devices off to the side, and grabbing a box over to himself.
Rooting around inside, he finally pulled something out with a
delicate move.

That something
was a wig.

A blond wig.
One with bouncing curls, and shiny, perfect-looking hair.

My eyebrows
crumpled as I walked over, finally gathering the courage to give
the hair a poke.

‘
It won't eat you, you know,’ John admonished with a
chuckle.

‘
You said it's a device, it looks like a wig,’ I said as I
distractedly let my fingers play over the very smooth locks, ‘a
very nice wig; a very expensive wig. Where did you get all the
money for the dress and this?’

‘
Theodore
has been having a great deal
of luck selling my devices recently, and Carolyn has developed an
efficient method of fabric manufacture, plant-based dyes as well.
Whether you choose to believe it or not, this wig,’ he gave it a
gentle pat, ‘is not made from hair. It is made from a tightly woven
mushroom fibre.’

I balked at
that. Letting my hand drop, I patted it on my top. ‘Mushroom
fibre?’

‘
Of course, Carolyn does love her mushrooms, but that is not
the point,’ John gently turned the wig over, and found what he was
looking for. A hairpin. An attractive, enamelled blue and red and
white butterfly clasp with a beautiful pin with what looked like a
topaz and sapphire encrusted on top.

Presumably
that was the device.

‘
This is the point,’ forcing his tongue between his teeth in an
obvious sign that he was concentrating, John twisted one of the
jewels on top of the hatpin.

And then
something happened.

The hair
transformed.

It went from
being bouncy, to being perfectly straight.

I actually
stood back, startled.

‘
You won't get the real effect until you are wearing it,’ John
assured me as he gazed my way and waggled a finger between us, ‘but
I assure you, it's quite unique. You see the clasp here can have an
effect over the hair as a whole. Making it straight, making it
curly, making it into a bun. In short, changing its appearance—when
you suddenly need to alter your disguise. To that end,’ John put
the hair down, and nodded at the dress I was still holding, ‘that
is reversible. It is white and blue on one side and a dark navy
blue and black on the other side.’