Ivy: Daughter of Alice Read online

  “When Alice defeated the Queen, and she disappeared, I was free.” Wit’s eyes lit up at the memory, and his voice became dreamy, as though in that moment, he was a long way away. “I was free to pursue the work I had always wanted to do. I left The Forge for a time,” Wit cast a furtive glance in my direction, then continued. “To continue my studies. I dreamed of becoming a doctor; to use my skills as an apothecary to help people. So, I did.” Wit smiled.

  “Now, you treat the people of Melfall?” I asked.

  Wit nodded. “I treat their ills and injuries, where I can.” He pulled at a thread on his waistcoat. “I ask for payment only where I know my patient has the means to pay, and only as much as they can afford. It is not a lucrative life, but I find it more fulfilling than living in the luxury afforded me by the Queen.”

  I looked at Wit, as though seeing him again for the first time. He wore threadbare clothes, with loose threads and patches on the elbows. His gray hair was messy, with unruly curls, too long and not tamed into a ponytail as worn by most of the gentlemen of Melfall. Wrinkles lined his face, and there were dark smudges under his eyes. Still, when he smiled, his eyes sparkled, and the lines of his face smiled too.

  “How does Mr. Cappello fit into this?” I asked.

  “Mr. Cappello brings patients to me.” Wit explained, with a shrug of his shoulders.

  I raised my eyebrows in surprise.

  Wit rubbed his hands together. “I met Raven several years ago. I had returned to Melfall and was setting up a practice. I had thought it would be easy. I still had many connections from when I was in the Queen’s service, and I believed the wealthy of Melfall would pay enough for treatment, so I could treat the poor for free.”

  Wit glanced at Gaia, who was also listening to the story with interest. “But the wealthy were after the beauty potions I had once brewed for the Queen. They objected to my treating the unbeautiful in the same consulting rooms, and waiting with them in the same waiting rooms—as though lack of beauty was catching. They demanded I charge the same fees to my poorer clients. Several refused to pay at all when they found I treated a poor, dying man without charge. I refused to change, and, one by one, my wealthy clients abandoned me.”

  Wit shrugged his shoulders. “It doesn’t bother me that those people chose to go elsewhere for medical treatment, but they tried to shut me down. They reported me so many times, and without money for upkeep, I fell afoul of the esthetic code. I was arrested several times, and I have to move my rooms to new locations constantly.

  “How can I treat patients if people do not know how to find me when they need me? If they cannot contact me, how do I come to them in their time of need? It troubled me, knowing people were languishing without help, but what could I do? If I revealed myself, I was likely to be arrested. Then, I met Mr. Cappello.”

  I leaned forward. The mention of Raven made my heart beat a little faster.

  Dr. Lapin paused, getting up from his seat to walk across the room. He picked up the teapot.

  “More tea?”

  I looked at the cup I’d set down on the table, half-drunk and now cold. I shook my head. Gaia accepted.

  “I don’t have a maidservant, Your Royal Highness,” Wit said as he poured the tea with shaking hands.

  Gaia waved away his concern and gave him a smile as she sipped her tea. Her bodyguard also accepted a cup of tea with a nod to the doctor.

  “Is there sugar?” The bodyguard asked. “You drink it very bitter in Melfall.”

  Wit frowned, then looked around the room. “Yes, somewhere...ah, here it is.”

  Wit offered a small sugar pot, but when he opened the lid, he frowned again to see it was almost empty. The man hesitated before taking a tiny amount of sugar to add to his tea.

  “I seem to be running low,” Wit said, looking flustered as he rubbed a hand over the stubble of his beard.

  Eager for Wit to continue the story, I pointedly redirected the conversation. “You were saying you met Mr. Cappello?” I asked.

  Wit walked over to a window; he drew aside the curtain to peer outside.

  “How much do you know about Mr. Cappello?” Wit asked.

  “Is that the vampire who brought us here?” Gaia asked, interrupting.

  Wit nodded. I glanced at her, surprised she’d met him too.

  “A little. He’s a milliner and a vampire.” I trailed off.

  Wit waited, and when I didn’t continue, he looked down to his lap as he took out his looking glass and rubbed at the lens with his handkerchief.

  “Mr. Cappello knows the city almost better than anyone. When I met him, he offered me a partnership—he would bring me patients if I would treat them.”

  Wit smiled, giving a little laugh. “It wasn’t much of a negotiation. I didn’t plan to give up my work with the ill and injured, so I accepted his help in that regard. He helps me to find new accommodations, when I need to move my treatment rooms. Mostly, though, he helps my patients to find me—the white rabbit was his idea, and his team of orphaned and abandoned children do the paintings.”

  “He also delivers food for the poor when he can.”

  I frowned, closing my eyes for a moment, trying to sort through all of this information. “What does Raven get out of this arrangement?”

  Wit paused a moment, shrugging his shoulder. It appeared he was about to say something, before changing his mind. He continued to polish his eyeglass on his handkerchief.

  “Why would a vampire help the city’s poor, sick people?” I asked again, certain that Wit knew something he wasn’t saying.

  Wit shifted in his seat. “His people suffer too, you know. What with the blood shortage and—”

  “What has this got to do with a blood shortage?” I interrupted.

  “Well, not so much a shortage, but with the banks refusing to sell to vampires, it’s difficult…”

  My mouth fell open. “The banks won’t sell blood to vampires? How do you know this?”

  Wit paled. “Perhaps I’ve said too much. The point is…” Wit trailed off, and I opened my mouth to ask him another question when Wit spoke so quickly the words seemed to pour from his mouth.

  “Mr. Cappello wants to change things for everyone—he was planning something to force President Rowntree to listen to the unacknowledged people of this city. She has ignored us for too long.”

  My head jerked. I stared at Wit. The petitioner to Alice had spoken about the white rabbit rallying the Queen’s supporters, but Wit seemed to imply something different. “He was planning? Not you?”

  Wit frowned, confused. “I believe he sought you out to see if he could find a way to President Rowntree’s ear…?”

  I sucked in a breath as Wit’s words registered. I stood, turning my back to walk towards the door.

  I took a deep breath, then lifted my chin and straightened my shoulders. “I have taken up more than enough of your time, Dr. Lapin. I believe the princess needs your services now. Thank you for seeing me.”

  Without waiting for a response from either Wit or the princess, I strode out of the door.

  6

  24th August

  “Audrey?” I stood at the receptionist’s desk at the Fourth Street Blood Bank. “I have some additional questions. I need to speak to someone immediately.”

  The receptionist blinked at me, then considered the full waiting room. “It’s Monday,” she said, by way of explanation. “It’s always busy on Mondays. People need money,” she whispered the last, then looked down at her paperwork.

  “I’m not sure you understand, Audrey,” I said, not bothering to disguise the hard edge to my voice. “I have questions, and if you don’t answer them, I’ll shut down your operation. I’m sure these people would rather wait than be turned away.”

  Audrey’s eyes widened as she looked up at me again, pushing her glasses back on her nose. “Inspector?” she said, peering at my badge “I didn’t recognize you at first, Inspector Rowntree. I’m sure somebody…I’ll just call—”


  Audrey waved at the next person to come through the double doors. I recognized Miss Crispin and started towards her before waiting for Audrey to explain my presence.

  “Miss Crispin? I have some urgent questions for you. You’ll understand.” I nodded towards the doorway to the blood donation rooms at the back.

  Miss Crispin barely disguised a flicker of annoyance as she glanced at the packed waiting room.

  “Of course, Inspector,” she said, her voice curt.

  When the door swung closed behind her, she stood in the hallway and crossed her arms across her chest. “What can I help you with, Inspector? We’re very busy today, so it would be best…”

  “I’ve heard a very disturbing rumor, Miss Crispin,” I said as I turned to face her, “and if I find it is true, I will be forced to report it to the highest authorities in The Forge.”

  Miss Crispin paled. “I’m sure--”

  “I’m sure it will be better for you if you cooperate. I would hate for you to get caught up in allegations of impropriety.”

  “Impropriety?” Miss Crispin’s complexion lost even more color. “I don’t know—”

  “Are you sure?” I said. “You see, every time I have been here, I have seen a waiting room full of people eager to donate their blood for the payment that this bank provides to them—a payment that is dependent on selling that blood donation to those that need it—our vampire population. The business model of this bank, of all the blood banks, is that they sell the blood to vampires for an agreed price and pay the donors who agree to provide blood for this purpose. Is my understanding correct?”

  Miss Crispin nodded. She was clasping her hands in front of her chest, her knuckles white.

  “And yet, I understand vampires are unable to get any blood from your blood bank.”

  Miss Crispin swallowed. “The instruction came from our chief executive officer,” she said, looking over her shoulder. She reached out to me, pulling me into a doorway as she lowered her voice to a whisper. “We had no choice. We were to continue daytime collection operations as normal, but all nighttime operations ceased.”

  “Why?”

  Miss Crispin was shaking her head.

  I glared at her. She looked around again.

  “I… I heard a wealthy patron bought up all of the blood.”

  My eyes narrowed. “Who?”

  “I don’t know,” she whispered.

  I glowered at her again, but Miss Crispin insisted. “Please, I really don’t. Nobody does.”

  Somebody knows, I thought.

  “What happens to the blood?”

  Miss Crispin glanced behind her, then she motioned for me to follow. She hurried down the hallway, through a small door set into the wall, then down a narrow staircase into the basement. I gasped as I entered the basement storeroom.

  Inside, stacked three high were barrels marked by blood type.

  “Every day, in the late afternoon, a steam carriage comes to pick them up,” Miss Crispin explained.

  “Every barrel?” I asked.

  Miss Crispin nodded.

  “Where do they go?”

  In the alley, off Fourth Street, I leaned against a wall, watching the back entrance to the Blood Bank as I racked my brain. Who would want to prevent vampires from accessing the blood banks, and why?

  The lack of blood available to the vampires in Melfall hadn’t caused an attack—yet—but it would be only a matter of time before a dreadful situation arose.

  I shivered, remembering the dreams that still plagued me every night. The dream had taken on a different flavor since my visit to Raven’s workshop, and I’d woken hot, sweaty, and wanting.

  I pushed a strand of hair out of my eyes and focused on the problem at hand. I’d been waiting for the steam-powered wagon to arrive for an hour. Even in the shade of the buildings, heat wafted from the streets. As I waited, perspiration made loose strands of hair stick to the sides of my face.

  Finally, the shadows lengthened, and a breath of late afternoon breeze provided some relief.

  A rumbling sound caught my attention, and I stood upright, suddenly focused. The wagon rounded the corner into the alley, and two men jumped off to rap sharply on the back entrance of the Fourth Street Blood Bank.

  I shrank into the shadows, hiding from notice, but the men barely looked up as they came out with the barrels carried on their shoulders, loading them into the wagon one by one.

  When they were finished, they covered the barrels with cloth, then tied them down with ropes. Then, with a whistle, they jumped aboard the wagon to leave. The back door to the blood bank swung closed.

  The wagon continued on its way to the end of the alley before I pulled Chesh’s steam bike out of the shadows and kick-started it.

  I kept the steam-powered wagon in sight as it chugged through Melfall, passing the Clubs Quarter Blood Bank, and the Central Blood Bank, before heading into the district of the old Royal Palace.

  At the sight of the old palace, my heart started to race. The late Queen—or perhaps the returned Queen if Raven was right—was a vampire. Perhaps she wanted the blood donations for herself? It made sense.

  As I watched, my conclusions were dashed as the steam wagon didn’t stop. It continued to wind through the narrow streets, into the back streets, before it came to a stop at a gate that was not marked by any signage or numbering that I could see.

  I looked around to try to get my bearings. We’d come to a lane of service entrances for the large estates, mostly owned by the old families of Melfall. I didn’t know the area well enough to know which entrance belonged to which house.

  A man jumped from the wagon and walked over to open the gate. It was locked, but the man appeared to have a key, and he held the gate open so that the wagon, now full of the day’s blood donations, could enter.

  Once the wagon had passed through the entrance, and the man started to pull the gate closed, and I got a glimpse of another figure who’d been standing inside the gates.

  I didn’t get a good look at his face, but I recognized the garish stripes of his suit.

  It was Tweedle Dee.

  Or, maybe, Tweedle Dum.

  “Are the Mr. Tweedles expecting you, Miss?” The butler opened the door and stared down at me over his long nose.

  “They are not,” I replied, lifting my chin. “I would be very grateful if you could announce my visit.”

  I prepared to step inside the entrance hall, but the butler stood his ground in the doorway.

  “The Mr. Tweedles are not presently at home.”

  I frowned, certain that it had been the Tweedles I’d seen at the back entrance to a nearby estate.

  “Are you sure?”

  The butler sniffed, pursing his lips. “Quite sure. I am not expecting them back until very late this evening.”

  “Do you know where they are?” I asked. “I have a few questions for them, and I would like to see them directly.”

  “I shall tell the Mr. Tweedles that you called.”

  I stared at him, but the butler didn’t appear to be hiding anything. I supposed that the Tweedles didn’t confide in their butler as to their whereabouts. I sighed, then nodded.

  “I would appreciate it if you would mention Miss Rowntree called on them.”

  “I shall be sure to pass on that message to the Mr. Tweedles, when they return. Good night, Miss Rowntree.” The butler gave a bow, then closed the door.

  I slowly descended the steps and walked back to where I’d left my steam bike in the driveway.

  The bike sputtered to a stop and I cursed. I didn’t even have to look to know that the engine was out of water. I stopped the engine, knowing that if I pushed it any further, I’d cause damage to its internal workings.

  I was almost at the city center, and only a few blocks from home, so I dismounted and started trudging across the cobblestone market place, now empty for the night.

  I heard a shout from overhead and looked up. There were figures standing on the scaffolding that
wound around the sides of the clock tower.

  My mouth fell open, and my heart thudded inside my chest. Without pausing to consider the consequences, I left the bike to stand in the market and grabbed my skirts in my fists, hiking them up enough to run toward the tower.

  I’d been waiting for the opportunity to get close to the Pinnacle clock since it started working again. I had to take it.

  I put my foot on the rung of the first ladder and started climbing.

  I’d reached the ladder leading up to the third level of scaffolding, where I would be able to examine the clock’s inner workings up close when I heard a shout.

  Without looking around, I gripped the rungs of the ladder and hauled myself up. The wind tugged at the loose strands of my hair, whipping them around my face. It blew up my skirts and petticoats, but I kept climbing.

  “What are you doing up there? Stop her!” The voice came from below. I didn’t look down. I concentrated on the next rung, then the next, climbing until I was pulling myself onto the third level of scaffolding.

  The platform shook as heavy footsteps approached me.

  I stood, holding out my hands for balance. I turned towards the clock, and my mouth dropped open.

  It was as though someone had taken the face off of a very complex clock, and I was staring straight at the inner workings. I reached out to run my fingers over the parts, moving in regular synchronicity, making time march forward with the precision of an army. It was one of the most complex mechanisms that I’d ever seen.

  A man in a worn, dirty shirt, and torn trousers, approached me.

  “You cannot be here. This area is restricted.”

  I kept my eyes fixed on the clock, and gripped the railing of the scaffold, determined that this man would not drag me away. Not before I puzzled out its mysteries.

  “What are you doing?” I asked.

  “Trying to fix the clock, of course,” he answered his tone gruff. He reached out for my elbow. “Really, Miss, I’m going to have to ask—”