Wild Boy and the Black Terror Page 15

  “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.

  She cleared her throat. “What is it that so enrages Miss Everett?”

  The question surprised Wild Boy. In a way, he wished he could answer. He knew that Clarissa’s anger wasn’t only caused by the terror still affecting her mind. That had simply made it worse. She carried so much anger – at her parents for abandoning her, at the world for hunting her. It had begun as a small egg, deep inside. But it had grown and hatched as a dragon. But these were private things to Clarissa, and none of the Queen’s business, so Wild Boy just shrugged.

  “I don’t know, Majesty.”

  The Queen nodded. It was the answer she expected. “You are an interesting individual, Wild Boy. You could go very far. But with Miss Everett at your side, I fear you will simply end up where you began. The fairground, or perhaps even gaol. That is, if she does not get you killed first.”

  “We’re partners, Majesty. We come from the same place.”

  The Queen considered this. “Our lives are not as different as you suppose,” she said. “Like you, I spent much of my childhood in isolation. Like you, I am different by a whim of birth. Sometimes I feel burdened by the weight of responsibility placed upon me.”

  Her voice grew softer, losing its regal stiffness. Wild Boy realized she had stopped calling herself we.

  “Do you know to whom I turn at such times?” she asked.

  “Marcus,” Wild Boy said.

  “I lost my father when I was barely a year old. Marcus Bishop means more to me, the woman, than you can understand. But before I am a woman, I am the Queen.” She cleared her throat again. “Tell me, what is it that you propose?”

  “A trap, Majesty, with you and the black diamond as bait. You wear it tonight at your ball. We get word out that this is the last time it’ll be seen. The killer will come and we’ll be waiting. We get him, we get the cure.”

  “And you believe this to be the wisest course of action?”

  “Maybe not, Majesty, but I ain’t got no other course of action, and time’s running out for Marcus. Dr Carew said he’s got worse, that he can’t hold out much longer.”

  Another moment of consideration, another shuffle of her sheepskin. “Very well,” the Queen said. “You may continue your investigation as you see fit. I shall participate in any way you require, and the full powers of the Gentlemen shall be placed at your disposal for this evening only.”

  Wild Boy couldn’t believe it. What a result! He wanted to hug her, and he almost did. “Thank you, Majesty.”

  “We have not finished. Whatever your plan, Miss Everett must play no part in it.”

  “What?”

  “She is a storm, Wild Boy. She rages too strong. Marcus said as much, only he believed that she could be calmed. We do not share his opinion. Even making allowances for her past, we cannot allow such a person to be involved in these sensitive situations. She is free to remain at St James’s Palace for as long as she chooses, out of gratitude for her assistance so far. But she is no longer to be involved in the affairs of the Gentlemen, or any future cases that you might be asked to investigate.”

  Wild Boy could hardly stand to listen. It was as if the words caused him physical pain; he leaned forward and groaned. He wanted to jump from the carriage and return to Clarissa’s side. But something made him stay.

  The Queen was right.

  Clarissa had become a danger, to herself and others. He couldn’t bring himself to say it out loud. All he could do was repeat what he had already said. Only this time it came out softer, less certain.

  “We’re partners.”

  “Not anymore. Of course, you are free to refuse our offer. But you would not be able to aid the Gentlemen in catching the person who has committed these atrocities. Thus, should they fail, you would become responsible for the death of your guardian and, perhaps, many others.”

  She let the threat hang in the cabin, making sure he understood i
ts weight.

  Wild Boy understood all right. The weight was so heavy he thought it might crush him into the seat. He gripped the door handle as the terror attacked his mind again, the poison still in his blood. He heard crows cawing, saw flashes of feathered wings.

  “Wild Boy?” the Queen said.

  “I can’t make that choice.”

  “These are the choices that important people must make. Now is the time to decide if this is all just a game to you or if your skills are worth more than the childish satisfaction of your curiosity. Which is it to be?”

  The carriage door opened.

  Clarissa grinned at Wild Boy, deliberately ignoring the Queen. But her smile fell away as she saw the look in his eyes. Misery. Pain, even. Had the Queen refused his plan?

  Wild Boy didn’t speak. He didn’t know what to say. He prayed she would understand, but knew she wouldn’t.

  “Mr Grant,” the Queen said. “Your men are to assist Wild Boy with whatever he wishes. We place our full trust in him to catch the individual responsible for these outrages and obtain the cure for the victims that remain alive. We shall ride back to Buckingham Palace, where you shall join us with the black diamond and every man available to you, except for two.”

  Lucien was as baffled as Clarissa. He stared at the Queen, trying to formulate a response. In the end he focused on the only detail he felt he could question.

  “Two, Your Majesty?”

  “Yes. Those men shall accompany Miss Everett to St James’s Palace, where she will be placed under guard for the duration of the evening. She is no longer to have any involvement with the affairs of your organization.”

  “What?” Clarissa said. “Wild Boy, what’s happening?”

  Still he couldn’t look at her. His voice cracked under the weight of emotion. “Clarissa, I gotta do this alone.”

  She laughed, convinced it was a joke. “Don’t be a thickhead. We don’t do nothing alone. We’re partners. You told her that, right?”

  “I ain’t got no choice, Clarissa.”

  “Yes you do, you tell her no. Hey, look at me.”

  Finally he did, through watery eyes. It was all he could do to shake his head and offer a few feeble words of hope. “I’ll catch the killer, Clarissa, I swear. I’ll get the cure and save Marcus. He’ll make things right.”

  “Miss Everett,” the Queen said. “Wild Boy has chosen—”

  “You shut your face, you bloody cow!”

  Clarissa’s scream was so loud that snowflakes fluttered away from her mouth. The Gentlemen seized her, but this time she didn’t struggle. Even as the men picked her up and shoved her into their carriage, she just stared at Wild Boy through the window.

  The snow settled against the glass, thickening until Wild Boy could see her no more. “I’m sorry,” he whispered.

  He leaned forward, the twisting pain growing worse in his stomach. He knew that something had just happened to their friendship. It was something he had chosen to do. It was something he had to do. And because of it, nothing would ever be the same between them again.

  27

  One hour until the ball began.

  One hour to set a trap to catch the killer.

  Wild Boy raised his head, letting the snow settle in his hair. The cold stung his skin, but he kept staring up into the silent storm. It was nice to feel something other than pain. That look Clarissa had given him had felt like a punch to the stomach. In the half hour since, the agony had grown worse, as if the hand that delivered the blow had forced its way in and gripped his insides.

  Stone angels watched from the roof of Buckingham Palace. Their faces, lit by shafts of moonlight that crept through the clouds, seemed to accuse him. You let her down. She was your only friend and you let her down.

  Anger rose inside him, and with it came an urge to fight something. He took it out on the angels, screaming at them through the snow. “Shut your bloomin’ heads!”

  “Ahem.”

  A fussy-looking man with a pencil moustache and extremely tight breeches stood beneath the palace’s columned porch. He regarded Wild Boy with the look of a man who’d just tasted something foul. “Are you Wild Boy?”

  Was the question a joke? Wild Boy held his coat open, giving the man a flash of the thick hair that covered his torso.

  The man’s eyes widened. Then his lips screwed tighter, as if the foul taste had grown worse. “Her Majesty informs me that you are in charge this evening. I am sure there is some mistake.”

  “No mistake,” another voice replied.

  Lucien Grant marched across the forecourt, wrapped in a thick coat and scarf. His grey whiskers sparkled with frost, and his nose was dark and swollen where Clarissa had struck him. Fifty bobbing lanterns followed, a string of fire threading back through the palace’s marble arch. It was the rest of the Gentlemen, apart from the two left behind to guard Clarissa. Their top hats were crowned with snow from the short walk from St James’s Palace.

  Lucien stopped a few yards from Wild Boy. The fog of his breath was slow and steady. “Do you know how long I have been a Gentleman?” he said.

  Wild Boy turned away. He couldn’t handle another fight – not now.

  “Thirty-three years,” Lucien continued. “In all that time, I do not believe that I have done one thing that was not in the best interests of our organization or our country. I have lost a wife to consumption and a son to cholera and I have not missed a single day of work.”

  Wild Boy turned, surprised. It sounded like a peace offering.

  “I am not a bad person,” Lucien said, “despite what you might think. We simply have different opinions about what is good. I say what I believe. I am too old to do otherwise. I do not believe that you should have been involved with this case. I would have done things differently. I would have resolved this situation by now. However, here we are, and I am bound by the orders of the Queen. So shall we work together this evening or shall we remain at odds?”

  Wild Boy considered telling him where he could shove his peace offering. Working with him would be another betrayal of Clarissa. But what choice did he have? None of the Gentlemen or palace staff would believe he was in charge. He needed Lucien to set them straight.

  “We’ll work together,” he said. “Tonight only. There ain’t no Black Hats or Grey Hats. Just all of us against the killer.”

  Lucien turned to the man in tight breeches. “You are Wiggins?”

  The man squeaked an affirmative reply. Clearly he recognized Lucien.

  “You are the Royal Floor Manager, in charge of royal balls?” Lucien asked.

  Another squeak.

  “Not tonight,” Lucien said. “Tonight Wild Boy is in charge. Do you understand?”

  Wiggins didn’t understand, but he nodded furiously. He bowed very slightly to Wild Boy, as if dipping any lower might split his breeches. “Well then Mr…?”

  “I told you,” Lucien said, “his name is Wild Boy.”

  Wiggins gave a laugh like a yapping dog. When he saw no one else joining in, he bolted up straight. “Well then, Wild Boy, where do we start?”

  Wild Boy turned, pretending to examine the forecourt. The truth was, he had no idea where to start. All he had was a rough plan to lure the killer here using the Queen and the black diamond as bait. There were three suspects: Gideon, Dr Carew and Spencer. The killer could break into the palace during the ball or come disguised as a guest. They had to be ready for both possibilities.

  “How many guests are coming?” he asked.

  “Two hundred and thirty,” Wiggins said.

  “Two hundred and bloomin’ thirty?”

  “Is that a problem?”

  “No. No problem.”

  Wild Boy breathed in, trying to focus his thoughts. He remembered Marcus’s words. Control your emotions. Concentrate. Think.

  “Where do the carriages arrive?” he said.

  “Here in the forecourt.”

  “So where do the guests go from here?”

  Wiggins led
the way, walking stiffly and upright, as if he had a plank shoved down the back of his tailcoat. Wild Boy followed along a hallway decorated with pink ripples on the marble walls, bronze candle stands and a plush velvet carpet that tickled his feet.

  He couldn’t believe how different this place was from St James’s Palace. Everything here sparkled and shone – the gilt frames around oil paintings of royal families, the silver side tables and golden carriage clocks, the teardrop chandeliers that hung from oval friezes. Everywhere candlelight glinted off crystal.

  Halfway along the hall, a marble staircase swept up to the first floor alongside a balustrade of twisting golden flowers.

  “The Grand Staircase,” Wiggins announced. “These lead to the State Apartments, where Her Majesty waits before greeting her guests.”

  “That is where she will be with the black diamond,” Lucien said, following. “Where do the guests go from here, Wiggins?”

  Wiggins led them into a long gallery. Kings and queens watched from oil paintings, their faces dimly lit by moonlight that filtered through a snow-covered skylight. Wiggins scuttled ahead and opened the doors. He cleared his throat and bowed, flourishing his hand as if he was presenting a Wonder of the World.

  “The Royal Ballroom.”

  It was the largest and most lavish room Wild Boy had ever seen, a world of red and gold – strawberry wallpaper with golden mosaics of griffins and hydras, candlesticks tied with silk ribbons, gilt window frames and a huge golden fireplace. Crystal chandeliers as large as cathedral bells poured light onto a dance floor framed by red velvet benches. Beyond, a string orchestra was setting up on a small stage.

  Wild Boy rested a hand against the door frame as the gaudy colours began to swirl. He saw red and gold sequins, something that wasn’t real. It was Clarissa, dancing on her high wire, dazzling in her circus costume.

  He covered his head as the image changed to Augustus Finch. That scarred, savage face. “Hear what they say!” Finch shrieked. “Hear what they say about Wild Boy!”

  Lucien touched his shoulder. “Are you all right?”