But Mum had been so drunk she could barely stand when shed slurred it at him, so he hadnt given it any more thought than a seven-year-old boy ought. Shed meant it as a compliment; she always called him her angel. Certainly she had never meant to make him feel as though he were damned, or somehow inherently evil.
Though good people werent often suspected of murder, were they? Even Finley had asked him if hed killed August-Raynes, the rat bastard whod dared lay hands on her. Shed thought maybe she had murdered him herself during one of her episodesas if his Treasure could ever be so cold-blooded. Shed never be able to live with the guilt.
The fate of Felix August-Raynes didnt make Jack feel anything at all.
He took his walking stick, of course, and slipped on a pair of thick-soled boots and a long black leather coat that flared out around his legs, fitting his upper body like a second skin over the solid black of his shirt and waistcoat. A small pistol with a dull finish so it wouldnt glint in the light was strapped to his right thigh. The size of the thing was laughable, but he was secure enough in his manhood to carry it. Besides, it shot Aether blasts, not bullets, so size really didnt matter. He had a dagger sheathed in either boot, and a garrote wire hidden up one sleeve. Oh, and a straight razor in his pocketand brass knuckle casings sewn into his leather clothes.
It was rare that he had to resort to violence. Normally, he could charm his way out of most situations, but sometimes his talent failed him, or wasnt enough, and he had to fall back on his fists and feet. He was a good fighternot as strong as the remarkable Finley or her mate Sam, but he was extremely quick, agile and not afraid to fight dirty.
For tonights job, hed asked Toby and Philippe to come with. Hed known the two of them for years, and though they bickered and tortured one another as only an Englishman and Frenchman could, they were dependable and loyal. Hed trust them in any situation.
Jack paid them both up fronttwo hundred each for the evening. It was a small fortune in Whitechapel, more than enough to make certain his faith in their loyalty wasnt mistaken.
Philippe was the driver. He had a sleek carriage that hed augmented himself with various gadgets and weapons. Instead of having a steam engine, it was driven by two mechanical horses. They were real beautiesengraved and sculpted. They looked as if they belonged in a museum or at the front of a kings vehicle.
Little flashy, aint it, monsieur? Jack asked. He trusted them, but not enough to drop the accent. I were thinkin maybe wed be less conspicuous in somefing a little less identifiable.
Mon frère Jacques, the Frenchman began, as though Jack had just told him a joke. Do you take me for a fool? He pulled a lever up by his seat outside the carriage. The backs of both horses opened and darkness billowed out. It took Jack a moment to realize it was fabricfabric that, in the dark, made the horses look real.
Fancy dress for metal orses. He shook his head with a chuckle. I oughtnt ave questioned you, mate.
Yes, but you are excused this time. Philippes jovial gaze slid past Jack, and his dark mustache twitched. Poisson! Are you coming, or are you going to flop about all night like you on a hook, eh?
Toby glared at him. The lanky Northerner did look somewhat fishlike as he performed what he called his exercises. To their effectiveness, Jack couldnt attest, but Toby had never been caught, so if he wanted to stretch and do a little dance before heading out, Jack wasnt going to question it.
Your mum want you home before you turn into a pumpkin, princess? That whats got your knickers in a twist?
Philippe swore in French, but there was no real offense to it. This was just something the two of them did.
Right, Jack began. In you get, mate. Ive an appointment with Philippes mum later and she ates it when I keeps her waitin.
Both blokes laughed. Jack allowed himself a grin as he gestured for Toby to jump in before him, then he climbed into the carriage and Philippes mechanical horses jerked into motion.
Toby wasnt a real talkative fellow, for which Jack was glad. They made the journey to the docks in relative silence. It gave him time to just enjoy the darkness, being hidden in the shadows.
There was no such thing as quiet on the docks. It was a city unto itself, bustling and pulsing with life and drama. There were several large seafaring vessels in port, and their crews were either hard at work or hard at play.
Got enough ladies here to have a tea party, Toby remarked as they drove by one raucous bunch.
Those aint ladies, Jack told him with a smile. Those be prostitutesthey eat ladies for breakfast. His mum had been one of themafter his father had gotten through with her. Society wasnt too kind to ruined girls.
Jacks jaw clenched. He wasnt going to think of Mum or that bastard again today. Enough was enough.
I can think of worse ways to go out, his companion allowed. So whats the plan, Jackey-boy? Only Toby was permitted to call him that.
Get in, get the crate, deliver it and get paid. Jack grinned in the dimness. Thats what itll be if Fortune smiles on us.
Get in, get the crate, deliver it and get paid. Jack grinned in the dimness. Thats what itll be if Fortune smiles on us.
And if not?
His smile faded. I dont want no blood shed if we can elp itours or anyone elses.
Got it. What was left unsaid, however, was that if it came down to Tobys life or someone elses, Toby was to be completely selfish, because Jack intended to do the same.
The carriage rolled to a gentle stopat least Philippes unnatural beasts had that to recommend them. Jack waited a moment to be sure they had indeed arrived at their location before opening the door and jumping out.
It was considerably darker along this stretch of dockconsiderably quiet, as well.
A breeze ruffled Jacks hair, brushing the back of his neck. Every instinct he hadand he trusted each and every one implicitlyinsisted that he get back in the carriage and drive away, but he had one thousand pounds that said that wasnt an option.
Lets get this done and get the ell out of ere, he said, shutting the carriage door.
Is that where we are supposed to go? Philippes tone was perplexed as he pointed ahead. It is nothing but a pile of rubble.
Jack turned his head. The Frenchman was right. It was just a pile at rubble. At one time it had been a considerable warehouse, but now it didnt look as if it could withstand a good sneeze.
This is it, he confirmed. The place matched Abernathys description perfectly. The crate is in the cellar. Lets go. I dont want to be ere any longer than we ave to be.
Toby grabbed his carpetbag of tools just in case they were necessary and came to stand beside Jack. Lead on.
Stay here, Jack told the Frenchman
Philippe looked insulted. You think I run off and leave Jacques and le Poisson? He spat on the ground. I would die first.
Jack made a face. Dont be so dramatic. Come on, Toby.
Abernathy had given Jack a sketch of the layout, so he knew to duck beneath the collapsed timber on the far right side. Toby held a gas torch in his hand so they could see.
What happened here?
Something bad, Jack replied, eyeing the destruction. What could make a building like this collapse into itself as if it had been squeezed by a giant hand? Something powerful.
There were footprints in the dust and dirt on the floor. Some were almost completely refilled in, but others were more recent.
What makes a footprint like that un? Toby asked, pointing.
Jack placed his own foot beside it for reference. His feet were long, but this print was even bigger than his boot. And then there were all the little quasi-round tracks. Either a troupe of tiptoeing children had run through here, or metal had beenat least once upon a time.
Nothing human, he replied. Come on. Metalespecially large automatonsunnerved him. Unless someone had figured out a way to make them sentientand according to Finley someone hadhe couldnt read them. They werent creatures of emotion or irrationality, so he had no idea how to know their intentions or use his abilities to gauge what they might do next. He couldnt read them, and he hated it.
Abernathy had told him that the crate would be on the floor, in the back of a room designated as the office. Hed mentioned that right around the time he assured Jack that there was nothing dangerous in the cratejust that the people who wanted it hadnt the means to fetch it and transport it themselves.
It was only because Jack had sensed at least a partial truth in that statement that they were even in this death trap of a building. If hed believed the viscount had set him up, they wouldnt be here. Still, there was something not right. They needed to get out of here and soon.
They found the office without incident, save for a few sneezes from Toby. The place was full of dust and debris. The crate was marked with black paintE.312. It was over five and a half feet long, two feet wide, and approximately just as deep. Not a huge piece, but big enough that it wasnt going to be easy to be inconspicuous with it.
Thats it, Jack said, fingers creeping closer to the pistol at his thigh. His nerves hummed at an alarming pace, instinct sharp and raw. The voices he called his intuition screamed for him to get out, that this building held nothing but danger. And yet...
There was one voicethe strongest onethat urged him forward. His instincts had never let him down before, and even though he knew they should just nab the bloody thing and run, he had to walk up to it and place his hand on the top of it.
It was like being hit by lightning. His heart slammed into his throat. Every hair on his body bristled. Every nerve tingledpainfully.
Bloody hell. Hed never felt anything like it. He couldnt explain it, couldnt find any reasonable logic, but he knew he had to take that crate with him. He had to get it out of here no matter what the cost. Whatever was inside it was special. Important.
Were not going to be able to carry it, Toby informed him. Not easily. Its heavy.