The Jacq of Spades Read online

  I felt stunned at the revelation. Could this be David Bryce? What link lay between the men and the boy? “Did the men know who took them?”

  Tony shook his head. “They said the man wore all black, his face covered with a black cloth, or veil like what you ladies wear perhaps, but thicker, so they couldn’t see what he looked like. Not even a small part of his skin showed, nor the color of it, nor even his eyes, but they did say that he was a huge man, monstrously tall. He kept them blindfolded most of the time, or in the dark, and tied.”

  “Well, that sounds pleasant. Did he say why he took them?”

  “No,” Tony said, “that’s the true mystery. He didn’t seem to want anything with the men, or even the boy, except to torment them. Tormenting the boy seemed to amuse him more than anything else, especially when the boy would cry for his mother.”

  A wave of grief washed over me, picturing Air treated so. I covered my face with my handkerchief to hide my tears.

  “Oh, my love, forgive me! I never meant to distress you.” Tony turned towards me, a slight grimace revealing the pain it cost him, and took my hands. “Please forget my words. From the descriptions the guards gave us, we should find the boy.”

  I tried to smile, wanting to keep his mind off the subject of the boy, who could only be David Bryce. “What of the other guards?”

  Tony shook his head. “The guards know nothing of them. They speculate the men were killed, but we never found their bodies.” He took a deep breath and let it out. “It is clear a scoundrel is on the loose, of greater depravity than any we have seen in quite a while.”

  I had no idea who this person could be. Jack Diamond, while tall, was not excessively so; there were few men in the city who fit this description.

  Tony said, “I spoke with your friend Joseph Kerr at the Gentleman’s Club today …”

  My heart fluttered at Joe’s name. I missed him so much. Did he ever think of me?

  “… and in passing I mentioned our troubles with that street gang, the ones with the red stamps …”

  “The Red Dogs?”

  “Yes, that was the one. In any case, Master Kerr said he heard rumors … he called it the Red Dog Gang … that it started in the Diamond quadrant. He speculated Master Jack Diamond might be behind the mischief. It sounds like the sort of random violence that would appeal to him.”

  This dovetailed too closely with my thoughts to be anything but disturbing. “Has anyone seen Jack Diamond of late?”

  Tony shrugged and took out his pocket-watch, winding it. “Who knows what the man does? I suppose his family must keep track of him. It surprises me that he is allowed to roam freely, when he might be better suited to a ward.”

  This discussion unsettled me. While Jack Diamond was unwell, he owned property. If Fortune frowned on his older brothers, Jack might one day inherit the Diamond Family Business. To be known for speaking ill of him could be an unhappy habit should he come into his own.

  I would have to warn Joe about his loose speech. Jack Diamond made a formidable enemy. “I do not like speaking of others who are not present, especially to speak of them poorly.”

  “Forgive me. You are much kinder than I to concern yourself with the reputation of a man who has threatened you in public.”

  “But that is it exactly. Master Diamond has spoken his mind and vented his rage. We know of his malice, and unless he were to go completely mad, he dares not carry out his threats. If you, or I, or my father were to disappear or be harmed, suspicion would immediately fall upon him.”

  Unless, of course, he got someone else to do his dirty work. A forged note on Madame Biltcliffe’s stationery to the wrong person could ruin me. “What concerns me more are those whose malice towards our Family is silent and hidden.”

  “I hadn’t considered this aspect of it,” Tony said.

  The fire crackled as a log shifted.

  What did David have to do with this?

  Tony said, “Who holds men and boys just to torment them? And why target me with violence? I have received no threats, no demands, no word as to motive. And this hidden motive is more puzzling when I look at who might want to cause me trouble.” He paused. “Even Bridgers wouldn’t torment innocent children.”

  Then he shook himself. “Let us forget this villain.” He smiled. “It’s been too long since we took comfort from each other.”

  So he finally felt well enough. I remembered the situation a few nights before with sadness. But I forced myself to smile, perfectly willing to think of Joe for an evening, even though nothing would come of it.

  Why did I do this, when Joe seemed to have no interest in me? It was how I endured the marriage-bed of a man I didn’t love. I suppose it was fortunate I never became a whore; I was most unsuited to the task.

  * * *

  I smelled gun oil and lavender. I stood at the door to the church wearing my bride-gown, searching for some way to escape this nightmare. Something cold and hard pressed against the back of my neck. A gun-hammer cocked, close behind my right ear.

  Roy’s voice came from behind. “You’ll walk that aisle, and say the words, and make no fuss. Make us believe it, now and for all time, or you’ll be dead.”

  I woke sobbing with terror, Amelia beside me in the gray morning light.

  “There, there, dear,” Amelia said, smoothing my hair, until I was able to catch my breath. Then she said, “You just had a dream. All is well.”

  I never dreamed this scene before, or even recalled it; I must have put it from my mind. But now the whole memory of that horrible day fell on me in full. I wept in earnest, unable to catch my breath.

  “Do you want me to call Mr. Anthony?”

  Fear gripped me; I stopped crying at once. “No.”

  He must never know. Roy made that quite clear. I wiped my face, forcing myself to appear calm. “No. It’s all right. I’ll be fine.”

  * * *

  Amelia put rosewater in my pitcher, remarking that it might lift my spirits. After I washed my hands and face, the room did smell lovely.

  My mail brought bad news: while Joe and Josephine Kerr would attend the dinner party, Mr. Polansky Kerr had a prior engagement.

  Damn. That left me with an extra seat.

  Molly stood before an easel, which held a diagram. “It is vital that the number of men and women at a dinner party be equal. No one should feel slighted or uncomfortable by being the odd number.”

  Even at twelve years old, Tony and I listened attentively. Roy impressed upon us that being good hosts was as important as anything else we did. So here I was, ten years later, with a dilemma: who to invite that would not take offense at being invited to fill a seat? The answer to this must wait; I had more important items to consider.

  Unless I found this man Morton (perhaps even if I did), I would have to search for David Bryce. The major problem in doing so, other than the danger from Jack Diamond’s men, was entering the Diamond quadrant itself.

  Public taxi-carriages wouldn’t drive to another quadrant without a definite address, and I had no contacts there. Entering the Diamond quadrant in a Spadros carriage without an invitation would attract all sorts of attention, none good.

  I felt like one of Air’s automatons, running into one wall or another until I found my way.

  The Man

  Tony left after breakfast to attend to the Business. When Pearson was out of sight, I went into Tony’s library, closing the door behind me. While larger and finer than Mr. Kerr’s library, it continued the gray, pastel blue, and white theme which covered most of our home. So I preferred the library at the Kerr’s.

  But I didn’t come here to admire the decor.

  “Holy Writ,” I murmured, “Casino Management … Fall of the Western Empire … Business Communication … ah! Here it is!”

  A street atlas of the city of Bridges, a slim volume, but important in my case. I opened the book onto Tony’s desk, being careful not to disturb anything. After studying several maps of the Diamond quadrant, I de
cided to visit Mrs. Bryce.

  Mrs. Bryce appeared in better spirits, and although thinner and paler than I remembered, glad to see me. She invited me in her back room and offered me luncheon, but her plate seemed so bare I told her I had already supped. She didn’t argue, eating my tiny portion as well as hers.

  She peered at me. “Do you have any news?”

  I nodded. “I have evidence that David may be alive.”

  Mrs. Bryce sobbed while I sat silently, recalling how unhelpful Amelia’s words were earlier. At last she said, “I’m sorry,” and wiped her eyes.

  “A group of men was recently kidnapped. They described a young boy held alongside them. The description of the boy matches David’s.”

  Mrs. Bryce stared at me in shock. “This is horrendous!”

  “It is, yet the men couldn’t tell us where they were being held. I have reason to believe your son is in the Diamond quadrant.”

  Mrs. Bryce nodded, tears filling her eyes. “Yes, where my poor Herbert was found.”

  “I must ask — do you have any contacts, or friends, or associates in Diamond? A person I might make a delivery to, or you might visit?”

  “There’s a fabric shop, much like mine; the owner imports his material from Europe. I've been there once before, but the prices were too high for me to order anything. I have his card here somewhere.” She began to search the room.

  Several people came in, milled about, and left without purchasing anything. I attended the counter, dressed in Tenni’s shop maid uniform, yet no one paid me any mind.

  Finally, she said, “I have it!”

  “Very good. When can we visit? I can return on —”

  “I will wait no longer.” She got her keys and hung the “closed“ sign on the door. I followed her outside; she locked the door and went down the street.

  Her decisiveness seemed such a departure from her usual manner that I felt completely surprised. After a moment’s hesitation, I followed. Perhaps I would have the same reaction if my child were missing. I couldn’t imagine bearing a child in the first place, so the point seemed moot.

  I found a public taxi-carriage that would take us to the Diamond quadrant, and soon we were off to the address on her card, the taxi-carriage’s wheels rattling over the cobblestones. “How did you come to be in Bridges?”

  What I wanted to ask was “How did you come to leave Bridges?“ But I couldn’t ask, not yet, or she would realize who I really was.

  Mrs. Bryce sighed. “My husband was an importer, but not a competent one. He died suddenly, leaving a large amount of debt which I was unable to pay. First, the better part of my inventory was seized, then my customer lists were taken, then I was threatened with eviction.

  “I saw a notice in the paper advertising shops for rent in Bridges, so when the creditors informed me they were taking our home, I gathered what inventory was left and brought my sons here.” She stared out of the window. “At times I feel it might have been better to stay and face the debtor’s prison.”

  Debtor’s prison? Her city sounded harsher than Bridges, if such a thing were possible.

  The carriage came to a halt, and we alighted to the silver-gray cobbles. The temperature had dropped, and I wished I brought Tenni’s overcoat.

  The shop was in the better part of the Diamond quadrant, and I could see why the prices might be too high for Mrs. Bryce.

  I felt eyes on me, and a light-skinned man in brown turned away before I could see his face. A shiver of fear went down my back. “Let’s get out of here.”

  A few streets over, we found a taxi-carriage which would take us to the slums “to see our aunt.” For an extra penny, he brought us to a rundown street a few blocks outside the Pot, just west of the main roadway. “It might be hard to find a taxi-carriage here,” he said.

  Clever man. “Would you wait for us?”

  He thought for a moment. “I suppose I can …. If you have another penny…?”

  I glanced at Mrs. Bryce, who nodded.

  “When we return, I promise.”

  He nodded, then pulled his goggles down around his neck, tipping his hat over his eyes and leaning back.

  We cut between two buildings and down an alley.

  From the description the men gave Tony, it seemed they were held in a larger building, such as a warehouse. Few such buildings lay in Diamond, which wasn’t known for its manufacturing. Most of the warehouses were in the western part of the Diamond section of the Pot. For this reason, I planned to limit the search to the west Diamond Pot, which was all we had time for.

  The only good thing about each section of the Pot is that it is narrower than the rest of the quadrant it belongs to, being at the “point,” if you will, closest to Market Center. I decided to begin at the south end and work my way north.

  I felt glad the warehouses were concentrated in the western Diamond Pot. I didn’t want to have to travel the tunnels under the roadway, dressed as I was. All sorts of scoundrels and ruffians loitered in such places.

  Even though the Diamond Pot was fenced with wrought iron, as was the Spadros Pot, this fence also had openings, either melted away by ray blasts or by the many bombings. It didn’t take long to find one and slip through.

  Someone whistled from high up and to our right, and it reminded me of my days in the High-Low Split. Our watchers whistled if they saw someone: one for quadrant-folk, to beg or steal from; two for another gang attacking; three for the cops.

  We dodged packs of dogs and men, wove around sleeping forms, piles of trash, and the occasional curious onlooker. An old woman with dark brown skin leaned on a battered broom at her door. Dirty, ragged children just out of infancy spun a broken bottle. A man with pale skin roused from sleep peered at us then covered his head with a piece of cardboard.

  Strangely enough, we were never challenged. Also, the streets were too clean. The piles of trash were well-stacked, no smell of filth or urine permeated the air, and no corpses covered with carrion lay about. It seemed strange.

  Perhaps they conducted their affairs differently here.

  This area must have survived the wars better than Spadros quadrant; more of the buildings stood undamaged. Several of the buildings were locked (and more to the point, bolted) on all sides. As we could hear nothing and had no way to force entry, we left those. Others were unsafe to enter, and after hearing no reply to our shouts, we left those as well.

  “This is so frustrating!” Mrs. Bryce said. “My poor child could be in any of these and we wouldn’t know it.”

  No bolts secured the next building, a one-story brick warehouse. So I retrieved my picks (which I had secreted in my bodice) and began to work on the lock.

  Steps came from behind. “Ah, now look here,” a man’s voice came, also from behind, along with a pair of hands traveling around my midsection.

  At his touch, I slumped down, backwards, and to the side. Moving forward and likely taken off guard, he fell to the other side, being thrown over my shoulder and against the door by his own actions.

  I’m not sure how to explain it better: I never learned the technique’s proper name. It was one of the first lessons Roy taught me, and he claimed knowing the name would interfere. “You brood too much as it is.” I practiced the maneuver many times, but never used it in reality before.

  I pulled my dagger from my left boot-sheath and put it to the man’s neck.

  Pale skin, a crooked nose, and light brown hair. A dirty laborer’s shirt with orange-brown pants and a coat twenty years or more out of fashion. The clothes looked as if they came from the items the poorhouse threw out, too threadbare and torn to sell. His face was smeared with dirt, and he smelled as if he hadn’t bathed in a week.

  “Hey, now.” He glanced down with surprise and fear in his eyes. “I was just having a bit a fun with you. No need for knifing.” His speech was slurred, as if he had an impediment.

  I stepped back. “Fun’s over, move on.”

  He picked up his cap and put it back on, but not soon eno
ugh to hide a look of deep chagrin. “You smell too good for any maid a hers,” the man gestured at Mrs. Bryce. “And not many maids know they way round a knife, either.”

  And I did; I learned knife-fighting as a child, from Josephine Kerr herself.

  “Tis none your concern.” I fell back to Pot-speak, I suppose, without meaning to.

  “No dummy, me. Pot rag dressed a slum maid, smelling like a lady. And armed.” He took off his cap and bowed. “Please to meet you, Mum Spadros.”

  No dummy indeed. “Hush, you fool. Black Jack would see me dead.”

  “He would. And you too pretty for that rascal, so I keep my trap shut.” He smiled, and his swollen gums lacked several teeth.

  “You gotta name to give?”

  “Eh,” he said, disappointed, “knew you would get round to asking. You can call me Morton.”

  “Morton!”

  “So twas you napped Clover!” He laughed and shook his head. “You think my treys don’t talk? When Clover told me a men blaming us for napping lads, I had to set things right.”

  I thought this was fairly admirable for a man who taught boys to vandalize. “You hear a lad taken?”

  The man scrutinized us. “Aye, just ta other side ta fence, or so they say. Jack’s old barn, not used much now. One a ta whores sneaking out heard ta boy a-crying.”

  I nodded, and fished out a penny, but the man waved me off. “You forget so soon. Help you own, aye?”

  “Aye,” I said, abashed. “Thank ye.”

  “Stay warm,” he said.

  “Stay warm,” I turned to leave, but then thought of Stephen. He didn’t sound like an outsider, but who else would talk to the police? “Wait.” Morton turned back. “Red Dogs take outsiders?”

  He spat. “Never.” Then he went round the corner.

  Mrs. Bryce frowned, as if puzzling out something. “So do we go there?”

  It could be a trap. Pot rags don’t steal from each other, cheat each other, or betray each other — usually — but they will anyone else. Since I wasn’t a Pot rag anymore, I wasn’t sure how I qualified in his eyes.