Wild Boy and the Black Terror (24 page)

“Look. Look!”

“It’s the Wild Boy of London.”

“My God, it is. It is!”

“He’s got a gun.”

Actually, Clarissa had the gun. She waved it in a wide circle around the street. “Get back,” she warned. “Everyone, get back!”

Everyone did, desperate to escape her sweeping aim. Some of them slipped on ice and tumbled on the stairs. Horses reared and drivers cursed. A dustcart toppled over, spilling ash across the snow.

Wild Boy tried to ignore the chaos, to focus on the street. At first he saw nothing except the snow driving at his face. Then something big and dark burst through the white curtain.

“It’s her,” he said. “It’s the Queen’s coach.”

The royal coach raced closer. The driver saw Wild Boy in the street, but instead of slowing down, he gritted his teeth and lashed the horses harder.

“He ain’t stopping!” Clarissa cried.

Cobbles shook beneath Wild Boy’s feet. Clarissa tried to drag him from the coach’s path, but he pulled back, standing his ground. His mind gave itself over to just one thought –
this coach must stop
. If it didn’t, he had failed, and Marcus would die.

“Wild Boy,” Clarissa said. “It ain’t stopping.”

He dug his feet harder into the snow.

It had to stop. It had to…

26

T
he cobbles shook harder. The horses charged closer.

Steam snorted from the animals’ snouts. Wild Boy heard the jangle of harnesses even above the screams from the crowd outside the Opera House. The Queen’s coach was just a hundred yards away, but still he didn’t move from its path.

He wasn’t scared. He was determined. He stared at the driver and hoped the man understood.
He would not move
.

Fifty yards.

The cries from the crowd grew louder. There were demands for Wild Boy to stand aside, as well as shouts for the carriage to crush him to the snow.

Thirty yards.

Then he saw it. It was just a slight change in the driver’s face, resolve replaced by realization. The man understood what Wild Boy hoped he would. If the horses hit him, the driver would lose control of the coach. A coach with the Queen inside.

Twenty yards.

Finally, the driver pulled the reins, slowing the coach. The horses came to a fretful stop, so close to Wild Boy that their hot breath rustled the hair on his face. He looked up and a shriek escaped his mouth, a high-pitched mix of panic that he’d tried something so crazy, delight that it had worked and relief that he hadn’t been trampled into the ground.

Clarissa moved closer, aiming her pistol at the driver. “Don’t move.” Her face was hot with anger, her voice a banshee shriek. “Wild Boy, go!”

Still Wild Boy stared at the horses. He couldn’t believe he’d just done that.

“Now, Wild Boy!”

Snapping back into action, he raced to the side of the carriage and called to the curtained window. “Your Majesty. I gotta speak to you.”

No reply. The curtain didn’t even twitch.

The carriage behind the royal coach stopped and two Gentlemen leaped out. In the other direction, Lucien and his Black Hat driver staggered from the Opera Arcade. They saw Wild Boy and charged closer.

“Your Majesty!” Wild Boy yelled. He bit his lip, stopping himself from shouting,
Open the bloody door
. “I gotta speak with you. It’s urgent.”

Still no reply.

The Black Hat driver leaped at Clarissa in a flying rugby tackle. She jumped the dive, but Lucien shoulder-charged her and knocked her to the snow. She thrashed and screamed as the two men twisted her arms behind her back, pinning her to the ground.

Wild Boy rushed to help her, but the other Gentlemen grabbed his arms and yanked him away. Unlike Clarissa, he didn’t struggle. He felt deflated. This was Marcus’s last hope, their last chance to catch the killer and get the cure.

And they had failed.

For a moment Clarissa stopped thrashing and returned Wild Boy’s heartbroken gaze. Then her eyes filled again with anger. She tore free from Lucien and swung a punch at his nose. A spurt of blood, a scream of pain, and Lucien tumbled to the snow. Clarissa pounced on him, screeching like an alley cat. She raised a fist to strike again.

“Miss Everett,” a voice said.

Clarissa’s hand froze mid-swing.

During the fighting, the driver of the royal coach had opened the cabin door. Queen Victoria sat inside, a sheepskin folded over her legs, and her hands tucked inside a mink muff on her lap. With a long sigh, she turned her head to look at Clarissa and Lucien.

“This is the second time in as many days that we have intervened in a quarrel between the two of you. One would think that you harbour ill feelings towards one another.”

A collective gasp rose from the crowd outside the Opera House. Men removed their hats, and women sank into curtsys. The Gentlemen holding Wild Boy yanked him down as they dropped to their knees on the pavement.

Lucien shoved Clarissa away. He tried to wipe the blood from his broken nose, but only succeeded in smearing it across his whiskers.

“Your Majesty,” he said, in a pained voice. “These children are extremely dangerous. Please allow us to protect you.”

“And how would you rate that protection so far, Mr Grant?”

“They tricked us, Your Majesty.”

“Indeed.”

Wild Boy pulled free of his captors. “Majesty, I—”

“Wild Boy,” the Queen said.

In a flash, the look on her face changed from mild disinterest to fierce authority. “Do not think for one second that we are somehow obliged to you. We entrusted you with a confidence and a responsibility. You have failed us in both regards, with quite desperate results. It is clear that you have not been found wanting in effort. Rather, we must assume that Marcus was mistaken in his assessment of your abilities. If that is the case, then there is no reason to listen to another word you have to say. Mr Grant, please remove the children from our path.”

Lucien reached for Clarissa. She stepped back, her fingers like claws.

“You touch me again,” she warned, “and I swear…” Then she shouted to the Queen, “We have to speak to you!”

The Queen arched an eyebrow. “You forget yourself, Miss Everett. We are not Marcus Bishop.”

“And we ain’t Gentlemen,
Your Majesty
.”

“Even so,” the Queen replied, ignoring her tone, “you would be well advised to listen to us.”

“No, you listen to me.”

“Clarissa,” Wild Boy said.

He reached for her, but she shrugged him off. “You wanted
our
help,” she told the Queen. “You and all your Gentlemen. Well, this is how
we
do things. You don’t like that, you shouldn’t have bloomin’ asked in the first place.”

As her anger calmed she realized what she’d said and added quietly, “Your Majesty.”

An even louder gasp rose from the opera crowd, and mutters of outrage. Lucien erupted in a coughing fit and another of the Gentlemen was so offended that he drew a pistol to defend his sovereign.

Only the Queen remained calm, neatening the blanket over her legs. “You are correct, Miss Everett,” she said. “We should not have asked for your help. We should never have expected a child to understand the concept of responsibility. You have let us down.”

“I never did nothing for you,” Clarissa replied. “I did it for Marcus.”

“Indeed. And it is he that you have failed the most. Mr Grant, please ensure that we never see either of these children again.” She slid a hand from her muff and tapped the carriage door. “Driver, we shall return to the palace. We have witnessed quite enough drama for one evening, and we have a ball for which we must prepare.”

“No!” Wild Boy called. “Your Majesty, we can still save Marcus. Don’t pretend you don’t care. I saw how you looked at him. We still got a chance at saving him, and everyone else that might get the terror if the killer attacks London. If you leave now, then you’re to blame for killing them all.”

The Queen cleared her throat, a signal for the driver to hold the door open. She peered down at Wild Boy, and again he felt those deep-set eyes digging into him.

“What is it that you wish?” she asked.

“A black diamond, Majesty.”

“Our diamond? It was stolen.”

“No, another one. The last one cut from the Black Terror.”

The Queen’s eyes widened a fraction, and he knew he had her attention.

“And you know where this jewel is?” she asked.

“I do, Majesty.”

“Your Majesty,” Lucien protested, “this is a wild theory. Perhaps if the boy had proof we could take it more seriously.”

“I ain’t got proof,” Wild Boy said. “
You
do.”

“What nonsense.”

“Ain’t nonsense,” Clarissa said. “Tell ’em Wild Boy.”

Wild Boy turned to Lucien, praying he’d got this right. “I followed you to the palace library, Lucien. You took something from a secret compartment. It was the last diamond, wasn’t it?”

Lucien snorted, causing blood to spurt from his nose. “Really? So where, pray, is this
last black diamond
?”

“It’s in your snuff tin.”

Lucien stepped back as if he’d been shot. Instinctively, he reached to his pocket where he kept the tin. At the palace Wild Boy had searched Lucien’s pockets and found the tin, but he hadn’t thought to look
inside
it.

“Mr Grant?” the Queen said.

Lucien dithered, trying to think of a way to deflect attention. Defeated, he pulled the tin from his coat. His hand trembled and at first he couldn’t open the lid. It finally came away, revealing a glow of darkness like a black halo as the jewel inside caught the glare of the carriage lamp. Sitting among the tin’s powdered contents was the largest diamond cut from the Black Terror. It was twice the size of the other stones, as big as a plum, and it scattered black beams across the snow.

Lucien fell to his knees. A strange noise came from his mouth. A low moan rising to a whine that, Wild Boy realized, was the sound of him sobbing.

Lucien raised the diamond high, like an ancient priest making an offering at an altar. Tears streaked his face, washing the blood into his whiskers. “Your Majesty, I can explain. This diamond… There are three others. They are said to be cursed if they are ever reunited. I had to keep one of them hidden so that could never happen. I planned to destroy it. Please, Majesty, you must believe that I acted as a Gentleman, as your sworn protector.”

The Queen raised an eyebrow; her face betrayed no other emotion. “Mr Grant, we will discuss this matter another time. Have no doubt that we will. But at present we wish to have a word with Wild Boy in our coach.”

“Your Majesty, I—”

“That sentence did not require a reply.”

The Queen slid across the seat, clearing a space.

Wild Boy looked to Clarissa and saw the slightest of smiles flicker across her face. But this wasn’t a moment to gloat. They had the black diamond, but they still had to convince the Queen of their plan to catch the killer. It was a plan that involved
her
.

He took a deep, calming breath and climbed into the cabin. The door closed with a gentle
click
.

There was a long silence as the Queen rearranged her sheepskin. A single beam of light shone through a crack in the curtains, illuminating her plump, expressionless face and pursed lips.