Wild Boy and the Black Terror Read online

  “Royal Majesty.”

  “Graceful Majesty.”

  “Defender of the Faith.”

  Marcus came forward last. He bowed, and smiled, very slightly.

  Wild Boy glanced at Clarissa, saw her eyes narrow with jealously. She, too, recognized their guardian’s smile – the one he usually reserved for her.

  “Your Majesty,” Marcus said. “You look radiant.”

  The Queen reached for his hand, but stopped herself, aware of how many people were watching. “If that is your way of inquiring if we are with child again, Marcus, then we assure you that we are not. My mother sends her greetings. She asks if you find the palace adequate for your needs?”

  “Perfectly adequate, Your Majesty. I cannot thank you both enough.”

  “Nonsense. We much prefer Buckingham Palace. Tell us, what secrets have you hidden around this old place?”

  “It is best that you do not know, Your Majesty.”

  The Queen nodded. It was an answer she had clearly received before. “And as for our current situation, have the Gentlemen discussed the matter?”

  “At length.”

  “Have you reached any conclusions?”

  Lucien bowed again. “Your Majesty, we have—”

  “None whatsoever,” Marcus interrupted.

  “In that case,” the Queen said, “there is one secret that you now must share with us, Marcus.”

  Wild Boy watched, fascinated. He saw Marcus hold the Queen’s gaze for a brief moment, a hint of a challenge. Whatever she was asking, he didn’t approve.

  The Queen noticed too. “Marcus, need we ask again?”

  “Not at all, Your Majesty.”

  Marcus turned to the Gentlemen. But when he spoke, his voice was directed beyond them, to the back to the room. “Wild Boy. Clarissa. Your Queen wishes to meet you.”

  Panic slapped Wild Boy in the face. He shot a look over his shoulder, half-expecting to see two other people with those names waiting to greet the Queen.

  “He means us,” Clarissa said.

  Wild Boy cursed and brushed soot from his coat. He couldn’t meet the Queen like this. Clarissa nudged his arm, but he ignored her, his curses growing louder as he rubbed the hairs on his face.

  Clarissa elbowed him again, and finally he looked up. The crowd of Gentlemen had parted. Everyone was staring at him, including the Queen.

  “You first,” Clarissa said, shoving him forward.

  He took several calming breaths and shuffled closer. As he approached the Queen he kept his eyes down and attempted a bow. He’d never bowed to anyone in his life, and messed it up completely, dipping so low that the blood rushed to his head and he had to grasp the table for support.

  “You know who we are?” the Queen asked.

  “Bloomin’ right I do,” Wild Boy blurted. “I mean, it’s a pleasure to meet you, Majesty. Sorry for cussing.”

  “You appear to be dusty.”

  “Fell down a chimney, Majesty.”

  “Indeed.”

  Her expression gave nothing away. “We have heard a little of your story,” she said. “Such experiences must have left you with scars.”

  Wild Boy felt those sunken eyes searching him, seeking the memories he kept locked at the back of his mind. Memories of the freak show, of shame and crushing loneliness. “No, Majesty,” he said. “No scars.”

  “And this is Miss Everett?”

  Clarissa rushed to Wild Boy’s side and sank into a surprisingly elegant curtsy. “Your Royal Highness Majesty,” she said.

  “We owe you both a debt of gratitude,” the Queen said. “Marcus informs us that you were responsible for the apprehension of a killer, the culprit of crimes of which you yourselves stood accused.”

  Still are accused of them, Wild Boy thought, although he decided not to correct the Queen.

  “We took great interest in that case,” the Queen continued, “and indeed in your subsequent lives here at the palace. Now we have a particular problem with which you might be able to offer some assistance. However, before we take you into our confidence, perhaps you might provide us with a demonstration of your abilities.”

  Wild Boy glanced at Clarissa. Another test.

  “Perhaps,” the Queen said, “you require a few moments?”

  “He don’t,” Clarissa said.

  She was right. He didn’t.

  “You’ve lied three times since you’ve been in this room,” Wild Boy told the Queen. “First, you are pregnant. The lace around your waist has been tied half an inch looser. See where them folds from the old knot are showing? And there’s a couple spots of sick on your sleeve, which you see a bit on pregnant ladies. Second, you told Marcus you’re well, but when that chair fell over, your grip went tight around that parcel in your hands. Means you’re scared of something. I suppose that parcel is what you wanna speak to us about, or why else would a Queen carry her own mail? And I know that you ain’t taken no interest before in me or Clarissa, cos each time you lie your bottom lip wrinkles, and it did it again when you said that.”

  The Gentlemen stared at him, outraged by his tone. Even Clarissa looked shocked. The Queen, though, simply glanced at Marcus and nodded. Wild Boy had passed.

  “Well then,” the Queen said. “Perhaps you might assist us in another matter. A singular and unpleasant matter.”

  Wild Boy tried to look calm, but he wanted to jump in the air. He and Clarissa had hoped they might be given a case, but they’d never dreamed it might come from the Queen. If they solved it, surely they would be allowed to remain at the palace.

  “Not only him,” Clarissa said. “Me an’ all. We’re partners.”

  “Indeed,” the Queen replied. “Miss Everett, are you a fan of the opera?”

  “Never been.”

  “That is a shame. We and Prince Albert adore the opera, and attend every Thursday. The Prince is currently in Bavaria, so last week we went alone to the opening of Don Giovanni at the Opera House on Haymarket. Have you ever attended a royal opening?”

  “I think, Your Majesty,” Lucien said, “that you may assume the children are entirely unfamiliar with the events of your social calendar.”

  “We never assume anything, Mr Grant.”

  The Queen’s eyes remained on Clarissa. “Had you been, you would know how crowded the Opera House becomes. That evening was the busiest we have witnessed. We are hosting a ball at the palace tomorrow evening, an annual celebration of the passing of winter. Despite the fact that winter has clearly not yet passed, many people wish to secure an invitation. Thus we exchanged pleasantries with several individuals prior to the performance. As we were led to the royal box, we were accosted.”

  “Accosted?” Wild Boy asked.

  “We can hardly describe the person other than in terms of his attire, which was the usual dress of a gentleman at the opera. All we can say for certain is that this individual removed a necklace from our person. Among the confusion, however, he escaped.”

  “Someone swiped your necklace?” Clarissa asked.

  “We have not finished, Miss Everett. As we say, these events took place almost a week ago. Yesterday, however, a parcel arrived at Buckingham Palace. It is this item which we now hold, and which we entrust upon you.”

  Wild Boy accepted the parcel with trembling hands. It was heavier than its size suggested, a rectangular object wrapped in brown paper. “This ain’t the paper it came in,” he said. “There’s no address on top, and no seal on the bottom.”

  The Queen nodded. “The member of staff who opens our correspondence discards packaging as a matter of course. The original paper, which had a black wax seal and a handwritten address, was thrown into the fire before the importance of its contents was established. But we hardly think the wrapping is significant. It is the contents that we wish you to examine.”

  Wild Boy pulled a lamp closer. He peeled away the wrapping paper to reveal a small ebony container. A square of card lay on top. Written in its centre, in black ink, was a single word
.

  “Is that a name?” Clarissa said.

  She lifted the lid. The container was half-filled with sand, or something like sand. Some of the granules were opaque, others raspberry red.

  “What is that?” she said.

  Wild Boy tilted the box, letting the contents spill onto the table. “It’s the Queen’s necklace,” he said, realizing. “Someone crushed it up.”

  “You are correct,” the Queen said. “That is what remains of the necklace’s jewels. Two hundred and eighty diamonds and ninety-six rubies.”

  “They must’ve been worth a fortune,” Clarissa said.

  “Several fortunes,” Marcus replied. “And yet they have been destroyed and returned with utter contempt. However, there is one jewel missing. The stone that formed the necklace’s pendant – a large black diamond.”

  Clarissa scoffed. “Diamonds ain’t black.”

  “This one is,” Marcus replied. “That is why it is so valuable.”

  “So that’s what you want us to find?”

  “Miss Everett,” the Queen said. “We would not have troubled you with anything so ordinary as a stolen jewel. We informed you that this case was both singular and unpleasant. That parcel and its contents are the singular details. Now we must show you those that are unpleasant. Please, follow.”

  The footmen leaped to life. One of them opened the doors as the other scuttled behind the Queen in case her dress snagged on a treasonous nail.

  Marcus signalled with his cane for Wild Boy and Clarissa to walk by his side. But Wild Boy hung back, noticing something curious. All of the Gentlemen sank to their knees as the Queen left the room, except for one.

  Lucien.

  The man seemed to have forgotten her existence entirely. As he stared at the box and the card on top, his grey face drained almost white. Did that name on the card – Malphas – mean something to him?

  Wild Boy grabbed the card and shoved it in his pocket. He flashed Lucien a grin, and then rushed to catch up with the others.

  None of them spoke as they followed the Queen along a corridor, through a guard chamber and out to the palace’s entrance courtyard. Sunlight bounced off the polished wood of the royal coach. A golden letter R gleamed on the cabin door.

  The Queen stopped. “Wild Boy?”

  “Majesty?”

  “You enquired about the parcel’s packaging, but not the servant who opened it. That man’s name is Prendergast. It is he whom we wish you to meet.”

  She gestured to her footman to open the door.

  Wild Boy noticed the man hesitate before stepping forward. He guessed he was about to be shown a dead body.

  Clarissa came up alongside him as the door opened. At first they saw only a shape in the darkness beyond. It was a body, but it wasn’t dead. It was another royal footman, in a scarlet tunic and powdered wig. The man was moving, clutching his knees and rocking on the cabin seat.

  Clarissa recoiled, grabbing Wild Boy’s arm. “His face!” she gasped.

  It was a ghastly face. Prendergast’s skin was so pale it was almost translucent. Black veins shot from his forehead to his chin, like dark, streaming tears. His eyes were so wide they bled at the sides, and his lips were shrivelled black slugs. They parted very slightly, whispering a single word to the rhythm of his rocking.

  “Malphas … Malphas … Malphas …”

  The Queen spoke again. “Prendergast has served the Royal Family for over ten years. He has two young sons. His wife passed away during the delivery of the second. He is a kind, innocent man.”

  “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

  “You 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 no
w?”

  “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.