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Chapter 13:
In Which Tom Has a Good Laugh

 

I opened me eyes to Blarney’s little face leaning into mine, and an onslaught of sunlight. “Ah! Damn it!” I sat up, one arm around Blarney and the other shielding my eyes from the light.

For a moment, I had no idea where I was, sitting on a couch that was ten times more comfortable than my cot at home, in a poshly furnished parlor. Then the night came back to me, and I remembered I was staying at Lucien Baptiste’s flat, with a little French lass and Lucien himself. Bloody hell. How had I ended up in such a situation? What an absolute nightmare.

Blarney mewed, her wee claws catching in my shirt. She was hungry for another one of those horrid kippers Lucien had been feeding Misère, and wanted me to fetch her one.

“Don’t start thinking you’re too good for mice, you ken?” I leaned my cheek against her as she climbed up onto my shoulders. “This stay here is only temporary. Me and Luce aren’t cut out to be flatmates. And I’m definitely not cut out to play guardian to some French kid.”

I stood up and surveyed the room admiringly. It was like a bloody treasure trove. I doubted Lucien would even notice if I pocketed a few knick-knacks and pawned them. I strode over to the fireplace, and examined the various ornaments arranged on the mantel. Blarney stepped lightly from my shoulders up onto the mantel, complaining that the entire mantel was carpeted in dust.

“Aye, I’m thinking Lucien is a bit of a miser. Bloke could use a maid.” I picked up a small gold-colored globe, and wiped the dust off it. The base was solid gold; it’d been made and purchased in Spain by a woman almost half a century ago. It wouldn’t fetch much money for all that it was gold. It had had sentimental value to the buyer, but that meant nothing now…unless it was melted down…I placed it back on the mantel. Next time I visited Cormac I might have some goods for him without any effort at all.

Blarney returned to my shoulders, complaining about her dusty paws, and we went across the room where a most excellent liquor cabinet stood, with bookshelves on either side. Lucien had himself a whole damn library. I suppose he had nothing better to do than read novels. Typical blue-blood.

He had a brilliant selection of liquor, however. There was some dull stuff, like wine, but there was brandy. A lot of brandy. The bottle I took was dusty. No surprise there. Lucien was definitely a total lightweight, and likely to pass out after a single drink. I took a single swallow of the stuff, then put it back. I’d get back to that later, hopefully. We’d be here for some time anyhow and I wasn’t about to put up with that tosser sober.

Blarney mewed longingly for kippers again, so we left the room and headed to the kitchen. No one else was awake apparently. The door to the attic where Helene was sleeping was still shut, and I could see down the hall that the door at the end—which was presumably Lucien’s bedroom—was shut. The entire house was silent.

The pastries were still all over the kitchen table; Lucien clearly didn’t have much of a mouse problem. But I supposed since we were already allowing Helene’s fat rat the run of the place, what did a few other rodents matter? Besides, Blarney ate mice.

Blarney reminded me that she wanted kippers not mice, and I should stop dawdling and get to the icebox. “If I can wait a bit for some liquor, love, you can certainly wait for a bloody kipper,” I muttered, taking the jar from the icebox and unscrewing the top.

The reek of the things nearly made me gag. As if the awful fishy smell wasn’t sickening enough, there was that pickled smell to top it off. “How can you like these things?” I asked her, covering my nose and forking a single kipper. She jumped lightly to the counter and took the kipper rather daintily. “You’re going to get spoiled now. I can’t be buying you kippers once all this madness blows over and everything gets back to normal.” She mewed defensively, and I laughed. “Well, it’s true, I could spare the money. I have a lot of pounds under my bed at home. Speaking of home, we need to get back there so I can get that money and hide it somewhere here. I need to get the rest of my stuff too; we might be here a week or two more.”

I gave her another kipper, and looked over the pastries on the table. “I never get to eat food like this, love, might as well enjoy it while I can,” I said, taking the same fancy French kind Lucien had been eating earlier. I was guessing it was good, judging from the way he’d scarfed it down.

I scooped up Blarney from the counter, and left the flat, shutting the door carefully behind us, and locking it with a thought. Once I was outside, it took me a bit to figure out where exactly in London we were, until I recognized a place where I’d had a job once, and found my way from there.

It was a while before we reached Cheapside, and a longer time before we found my street, but I felt a great deal more relaxed as I was going up the stairs to my flat. Until I saw the door slightly open. I looked at Blarney in my arms, and she mewed softly as I pushed the door further open.

My flat was never spotlessly clean, but it was never an absolute wreck, like it was then. The cot was turned over, the black paper I’d covered the windowpane with was ripped off, the empty bottles were smashed, as were the crates, and all my stuff was strewn all over the floor.

“Would you believe that?” I said, stepping over some broken glass. “And they didn’t even take the money there.”

It hadn’t been a robbery, which was a relief. I don’t think I’d’ve been able to take the indignity of that. Blarney wriggled out of my arms, and minced her way carefully over the mess. She thought this was connected to all the other trouble we’d been having lately.

“What do you mean? That council—or whatever—might think I have Helene?” I squatted down to pick up a sheet of paper lying on the floor. It was Kathleen Kelly’s love letter; they’d flattened it out, and must have read it. “They read my letter? Now that’s just rude. A bloke can’t even have any privacy anymore. Not that this will help them any.” I ripped it in half, and crumpled up the pieces. “I have enough trouble in me life without worrying about Kathleen Kelly.”

Blarney mewed impatiently, placing her paws on my knees and nudging my chest with her little head. She thought they were looking for the box.

“The box. I’d forgotten about that.” I reached into my shirt and took it out. “Should I have asked Helene about this? Those crazy blokes that were after her seemed to want this box too. Poor Luce had no idea what they were talking about; he was so scared out of his mind.”

I turned the box over in my fingers, rubbing the weird carved symbol on its top, that heart with the three swords. It was strange that I couldn’t see its history. The only thing I got from it was that weird lavender smell, and if I thought hard enough, Icould feel those cold strands of hair in my fingers. It wasn’t a normal box, that much I knew. Lucky or cursed, I couldn’t tell, but there was something magical about it, if magic was even the right word for it.

“I was supposed to give this to the German today; I think I missed the bloody appointment though. Do I even trust him? Likely he’s with those crazy blokes, and wants to kidnap and kill Helene. Or myself, which would be fairly irritating—and those bloody ghosts almost did the job for him.” I tried to pry the box open, but it resisted. “Damn. I don’t think it’s any use trying to open this thing.” I tucked the box into my pocket and stood up.

Blarney stepped out of the way as I righted the cot and sat down it, surveying the wreck around me. “I guess I’ll just be taking the money and some clothes. And the fiddle. Not much else here, and after all this madness is over, I’ll just find a new place to live. I can afford a better flat; maybe I’ll do that. Would you like that, love? And I’ll buy you a whole lot of kippers then. For now, we can keep on nicking them from Luce’s ugly bird, right?” I scratched behind her little ears, and smiled at her. “I’m going to go take a bath. You coming?”

I took a quick bath in the communal bathroom down the hall outside my flat. I made sure to lock the bathroom door; the many awful children that lived downstairs had a bit of a reputation for never knocking. It seemed that I’d be dealing with children a lot soon, or at least, one child. Helene seemed all right though, quiet enough and she was cute, which helped. It’d be weird still; I’d never lived with any girl before, much less a nine-year-old. I’d lived with boys for years, and knew how to deal with those. Not too long ago, I’d been one myself. But I’d never really even known many young girls, excepting the most horrible Kathleen Kelly herself. Luckily, Helene didn’t seem half as irritating and giggly as Kathleen, but one couldn’t be sure of it yet. One thing was for sure, living at Luce’s would be different from what I was used to.

After the bath, I gathered up my dirty clothes and Blarney in my arms, dressed only in clean trousers, and ventured out into the hall. I was almost to my door, when Mrs. Walker stepped out of the stairway and into my path.

“Tom MacKenna,” she barked, her beefy arms crossed over her hefty bosom. “What’re you doing?”

“I’m talking to you, ma’am,” I said, pulling Blarney and my clothes closer to cover myself better. “By the by, if it’s rent you’re wanting, I don’t have it on me person.”

“Well, I didn’t think you might.” She smirked, her beady eyes roving in a way they definitely shouldn’t’ve been. “Been bathing?”

“Aye,” I said, wincing as Blarney’s little claws dug into my skin. I was holding her too hard, trying to cover myself the way I was.

“How old are you now, Tom?”

“Nineteen,” I said slowly. “How about you?”

“Been around for a long time,” she said, nodding, and stroking her nauseating mustache. “I was thinking, Tom, that maybe I’m too hard on you.”

“Oh, don’t beat yourself up about it…” I looked around for a way to escape. Mrs. Walker was starting to become another Kathleen Kelly—except a million times worse.

“You’ve been living in this building for about two years now, and I’ve noticed you don’t have much family, nor do y’have yourself a lady friend. Am I right, Tom?”

I nodded. “Aye, that is so.”

“You’re all alone in this world,” she sighed, placing a large man-like hand on my shoulder, and rubbing my skin a bit. I cringed, as she continued. “So am I, Tom, so am I. And I was thinking, I’ve been alone since Mr. Walker…well, y’know.” She waved her other hand dismissively. “We are two lonely people. Maybe I ain’t been as hospitable or warm as I could be to you, Tom. So if ever y’get too lonely…” Her large fingers squeezed my shoulder. “I am here for you, Tom.”

“Ah, well, I’m truly touched, Mrs. Walker.” I shifted the clothes and a very disgruntled Blarney in me arms. “But I have to tell you, I’m taking off soon, you ken?”

“Moving?” Her beady eyes narrowed.

“Aye. I’m leaving today.”

“Where’d you move to?”

“Oh, it’s a good long distance away from here,” I said, rather pleased with the fact. “I doubt I’ll even have much chance to be in this fine neighborhood for some time.”

“Well, that’s a pity, to be sure!” She scowled darkly. “You living with a lady then?”

I paused then, grinning broadly. “Aye, you got me, Mrs. Walker. That I am. And the finest lass is she.”

She withdrew her hand from my shoulder, and I continued, a bit pleased with meself and me lies. “We’re getting wed soon actually. She’s a fine lass, as I said, but there is no woman as jealous as she. She watches me like a hawk.”

“I see,” Mrs. Walker said icily. “What’s her name, you say?”

“Kathleen,” I said, saying the first woman’s name that came to mind. “Aye, er, Kathleen Kelly. She’s an exceptional lass.”

“Hm. Well, I wish you two the best of luck,” she said, sniffing, and turning toward the stairs. She looked quite put out. “I suppose y’aint paying any of the rent you owe me?”

“Now, y’know I’m penniless, Mrs. Walker. That charity work…it don’t pay much, I’ll tell you that.”

“Well, good-bye then,” she said, starting down the stairs.

“Aye, farewell,” I called, dashing into me flat, and shutting the door behind myself. Blarney mewed, and I laughed, making sure the door was locked. “Aye, love, I don’t have any idea what makes me so irresistible to the most unlikely and unpleasant females. It’s a curse, I think. It’s a fine thing that I’m not concerned with finding a lady, because I don’t think I know one who isn’t mad as anything.”

Blarney slid out of me arms, and I threw myself on the cot. “Well, I won’t miss this old flat. That sofa of Lucien’s is a damn sight more comfortable than this cot.”

Blarney jumped up beside me, and mewed disgustedly at the bloody shirt I had crumpled there.

“That bothers you, does it, love?” I stood up and lifted up the shirt, studying the ugly bloody hole in it. “Would you look at that? It looks awful! Felt awful too.”

Blarney didn’t want to think about it.

“You worry too much, darling! I know you were scared, back there in the alley. I wasn’t, not really. I knew they couldn’t keep me down.” I smiled at her. “I’m sorry I had to scare you like that though. I’d be scared if I was in your place and you were in mine.”

She leaped lightly to the floor, and nudged my leg with her head.

“Ah, I love you too. At least you knew what would happen! Poor Luce!” I laughed whole-heartedly. “He must be wondering now if he was seeing things. I doubt that poor bloke can even wrap his mind around it. A dead man come back to life, as if it came out of that novel he had lying about his flat! Ha!”

Blarney still saw nothing funny about the situation. I picked her up, and cuddled her. “You silly lassie. You don’t see anything funny about it?”

I kissed her soft little head. “An invincible man, like myself…And you don’t see the humor in it? That prissy blue-blood Lucien will never be able to figure it out. I won’t be telling him. Let him think it was just his imagination. We’ll be living with him and Helene for a month, at the most, I’m sure. They won’t need to know about that.” I smiled into her wide blue eyes. “Who’d believe it? It’s all madness on top of madness, and too much to even make sense of. Witches, warlocks, covens, familiars, monsters, magic, and dead men coming back to life! Who’d believe any of this madness? I wouldn’t believe any of it myself if I wasn’t living it. It’s all too much like something out of a disgustingly sensational novel!”

 

END OF VOLUME I: THE MAGICIAN AND THE HERMIT