Wild Boy and the Black Terror (7 page)

“He’s got some sort of disease,” Clarissa said.

“No, no disease,” the Queen replied. “We spoke with Prendergast yesterday morning, moments before he opened that package. He was perfectly well. The package was the first and only piece of correspondence that he opened. He read its card and got rid of the packaging. Then he was like this.”

Wild Boy brought the card from his pocket.
Malphas
.

Marcus spoke. His voice, usually so calm, seemed suddenly flustered, broken by small swallows. “Whoever stole the Queen’s black diamond and sent that package somehow did this to Prendergast. However, we suspect that Her Majesty was the intended target.”

“Wild Boy and Clarissa,” the Queen said, “we wish you to consider all that you have heard and seen, and search for clues that might identify the person behind this most heinous of crimes.”

Instinct urged Wild Boy to turn and run. Whatever was going on, he sensed that he and Clarissa should have no part in it. But he gathered his nerve and stepped closer, listening to that name repeated over and over from Prendergast’s lips.

“Malphas … Malphas … Malphas…”

Prendergast’s mouth opened wider, and he whispered two more words.

“He’s coming.”

6

“
Y
ou really think someone wants to kill the Queen?”

Clarissa tossed a wet boot over the top of the dressing screen. It landed with a thump that rattled the mirror panels on the walls. “Imagine if we stopped that. We’d be famous.”

“We already
are
famous,” Wild Boy said.

“Yeah, but people would
like
us. Maybe we could stop hiding from everyone.” She threw the other boot over the screen. “I bet the Queen would even invite us to her swanky ball on Thursday.”

They were in the Royal Dressing Chamber, where maids and footmen had once clothed kings and queens. The room was entirely walled with mirrors, and ceilinged with them too. Some of the panels were rashy with blotches, or spiderweb-shattered where moody monarchs had hurled boots against the glass. Marcus had suggested this as an appropriate place for Clarissa to dress for Lady Bentick’s dinner. Wild Boy didn’t know if that was because it had once been so grand or that it was now so grubby.

“I ain’t said I’m going to this dinner tonight,” Clarissa muttered. “Just trying the dress on, is all. Probably look stupid.”

“No change there,” Wild Boy replied.

Clarissa cursed him and waited for his reply – they regularly exchanged affectionate abuse. But Wild Boy just stared at the Queen’s card, running a hairy fingertip over the word in black ink.
Malphas
.

He should have been excited. If they solved this case, they would have something even stronger than Marcus’s support; they’d have royal approval. They definitely wouldn’t need to worry about being thrown out of the palace anymore.

But with what he’d just seen, Wild Boy didn’t exactly feel like celebrating. He sat up on the window ledge, watching one of the Grey Hats lead the Queen’s servant, Prendergast, across the courtyard. In the lamp’s harsh glare, Prendergast’s face appeared even whiter, his veins even blacker, like a living corpse. He kept twitching, shaking. His eyes shot around him as if he was surrounded by invisible, swooping demons.

“Who would do that to someone?” Wild Boy wondered.

“That is the question.”

Marcus limped into the Dressing Chamber. He wore an impeccable evening suit, and his silver hair was slicked with pomade. But the lines on his face had grown deeper, as if he’d aged a decade that day.

“Any news from the docs?” Clarissa asked. The physicians among the Gentlemen had spent the afternoon studying Prendergast for clues to what had caused his affliction.

Marcus shook his head slowly. “They have tested the man for every known disease. Consumption, white lead, new strains of cholera. The powdered remains of the Queen’s necklace were also examined. They contained no poison, no substance that might have caused any effect upon Prendergast. The box was just a box, and the crushed jewels were just crushed jewels. Hours of study by the country’s leading medical men, and the closest any have come to a diagnosis is to agree that Prendergast has been, somehow, frightened to within an inch of his life.”

“Could’ve told them that before they began,” Clarissa said. “So we ain’t got no clues?”

Wild Boy shifted closer to the window, watching Prendergast being led across the courtyard. “Who’s that with him now?”

“A young physician named Carew,” Marcus replied. “He studied in India, specializing in rare diseases. He volunteered to take care of Prendergast.”

Dr Carew looked like he regretted his eagerness. His face was lit with nervous sweat, and his spectacles kept slipping down his nose. But the doctor wasn’t the only person keeping an eye on Prendergast. Across the courtyard, Lucien watched from the shadows. He snorted a pinch of snuff without taking his gaze off the doctor and patient.

Gideon was there too, wrapped in his huge coat. His face screwed up tighter than ever, and he tugged at his neck cloth as if trying to strangle himself. His small eyes were fixed on Prendergast. Did the Queen’s story mean something to him too?

Wild Boy slowly turned the card over in his hand. “Malphas,” he said.

“Think it’s a name?” Clarissa said.

Marcus closed his eye, wincing at another stab of pain in his head. “I do not know,” he said. “Are you not ready yet, Clarissa?”

“Button’s stuck,” she replied. “So you think this is just a boring old theft then? Whoever done it kept one of the jewels, remember? The Queen’s black diamond.”

“Clarissa…”

“Although why crush up the other stones if it’s a theft? Sounds more like a threat, right?”

“I do not know, Clarissa!”

Clarissa’s head rose from behind the screen. “Bit grumpy tonight, ain’t you?”

Marcus sighed. “I apologize. It has been a long week, which I fear is about to get longer. As for your speculation, you might be surprised to learn that to assassinate Her Majesty would not be an especially difficult task. Her agenda is widely known. She rides her carriage in public, and her horses. She regularly stops in Hyde Park to converse with strangers. Any fool with a pistol could take a shot at her. Indeed, several have. It was only through poor planning that their attempts did not succeed.”

Wild Boy had heard about one of those cases. Last year a madman shot at Queen Victoria as she rode from Buckingham Palace. The man escaped, but the Queen insisted on riding the same route the next day to tempt him to strike again. The risk paid off: the gunman was caught.

“I reckon Lucien knows something about all this,” Clarissa said. “Did you see his face when he saw that card? Pink as a boiled ham.”

Marcus was about to reply when a shot of pain struck his skull. He tried to hide his grimace but it reflected around the room’s mirrors. He slicked back his hair, trying to gather his composure, but when he spoke again his voice was softer than usual, distant.

“I have not always been in charge of this organization,” he said.

Clarissa’s head rose again from behind the screen. Marcus rarely told stories about the history of the Gentlemen, and he never spoke about himself.

Wild Boy and Clarissa had asked, plenty of times. They’d searched the palace for Marcus’s bedroom, but not found it. They’d probed for information about his family, but got none. Wild Boy had studied him for clues, but their guardian’s clothes were always so perfectly pressed that it was hard to detect anything other than what he’d eaten for breakfast.

But now, for the first time, Marcus was volunteering information. Wild Boy shifted from the windowsill, listening carefully.

“There are secrets within secrets,” Marcus said.

“You mean secrets so secret that not everybody at the secret organization knows about them secrets?” Clarissa asked.

“Precisely. Incidents that occurred before my time in charge of the Gentlemen. It is possible that this case involves one of those events, a particular event with which Lucien was involved. That is all I can say for now. But I assure you that I shall be speaking with him.”

“I got a few things to say to him an’ all,” Clarissa said. She laughed, relishing the thought of her next encounter with Lucien Grant.

Marcus’s grip tightened on the top of his cane. He watched the dressing screen for a moment, and then limped closer to Wild Boy. He spoke in a whisper. “Should I be worried?”

“Eh?”

“You know what I mean.”

Wild Boy did – of course he did. He’d seen, too, how quickly Clarissa’s temper had flared in the Tapestry Room. She’d almost punched Lucien in the face before she was dragged away. Clarissa had always acted tough; that was how they got by in their world. But lately the anger had grown worse.

She never spoke about what happened at the circus – her mother had turned against her and hunted her with dogs. Nor did she mention her father, who had abandoned her years before. She pretended that both subjects were miles from her thoughts. But sometimes Wild Boy got the feeling they were so close that they almost crushed her.

“I’m coming out!” Clarissa called. “Wild Boy, if you mock me I’ll break your arms.”

Wild Boy hopped from the windowsill, fully intending to mock her. But as Clarissa stepped from behind the screen, the words stuck in his throat.

She looked beautiful.

Her hair shone like fire, her eyes sparkled, and her pale skin was delicate rather than unhealthy. Marcus told them that princesses and queens had been dressed in this room, but Wild Boy couldn’t imagine any of them looking better than Clarissa.

She shifted in the dress, acting uncomfortable. “What do you think?”

Wild Boy shrugged. “Looks all right.”

Marcus limped closer. For a second, all of the pain and tiredness eased from his features, and he smiled. It wasn’t just a hint of a smile. It was a big, broad grin, and it warmed up the whole room.

He offered her his arm. “Gideon is waiting with our carriage. Shall we?”

Clarissa glanced at Wild Boy. The two of them had hardly been apart over the past few months. It felt strange to be separated, even for an evening. But they both knew he couldn’t come; the reason was reflected in the mirrors all around this room.

Wild Boy wanted to say something – a joke, anything to make her stay a little longer. But it was as if all the words had been sucked out of him. Seeing Clarissa like this, he realized for the first time how easy it would be for her to have another life. A life without him at her side.

He was glad to see her pull on her old boots, shoving her lock picks into one of them.

“I’ll steal some posh grub for you,” she said.

And then she was gone. The golden sequins on her dress shimmered in the lamplight as Marcus led her away.

Wild Boy stared at the empty corridor where the only two people in his life had just left. He turned and considered his reflection in one of the room’s broken mirrors, a shattered vision of scruffy hair and sudden, desperate sadness. He knew right then that if they were ever thrown out of the palace, he would leave Clarissa. She wouldn’t want him to, but he would have to, because the only place he could go would be the fairground. And he would never let her go back to that world. He would never let that happen.