Boots for the Gentleman (3 page)

Most everyone knew Querry here. Few of the many whores propositioned him, and most of the beggars left him alone. He walked in silence, stepping over drunks and the homeless, his hands in his pockets and his fists clutching the jewels from the attic and the twenty pound coins. Gangs of thugs wouldn’t hesitate to outnumber and mug the thief, especially if they thought he’d been at work. Along the way, he stopped in one of the better pubs and bought a kidney pie, a piece of fried fish, and a pint of ale, carefully bringing out only a few pence as payment, and making sure the others didn’t jingle.

“Home sweet home,” Querry muttered as he entered his building and made his way to his room on the third floor. Just like he did outside, he stepped over the prone bodies that littered the hall, and looked away from the prostitutes conducting business in the stairwells. He unlocked the intricate series of clockwork locks he’d attached to his door and lit the single candle on the table. Loud yowling greeted him, and he unwrapped the fish filet and broke it in half for Tosser and Toerag, two foreign cats he’d rescued from being stoned to death by kids. Sometimes he cursed himself for bringing them home when he could barely feed himself, but they had lovely, dark brown ears and feet, smooth, fawn-colored coats, and deep blue eyes that resembled Querry’s own. Plus, they guarded his closet-sized room as well as any bulldog, and they were just as mean.

When Querry sat on the edge of his narrow mattress, his knee touched the table with the broken leg. Various tools and gears covered the surface, as Querry continuously experimented with tinkering and worked to repair and improve his weapons, so the thief ate his meal from his lap. Then he unbuckled his gloves and wriggled them off. He’d been too hungry to bother before. Carefully he placed his weapons, gear, and plunder in a wooden chest, the only other piece of furniture he owned. He draped his shirt and trousers over the headboard. He’d need to wash them, and his body, in the copper basin. But it could wait for morning. Going into Neroche always exhausted Querry. He stretched out on his back and folded his arms beneath his dark hair.

Tomorrow, he could pay his rent. He could sell the jewelry he’d taken and probably earn enough to buy food for the next few weeks. He needed another candle, bullets for his pistols, and some steel tubing. He sighed and listened to the contented purr of the cats.

It could be worse,
he told himself. He didn’t have much, but he had a roof over his head and enough to eat. He had his freedom. At least he could say that nobody owned him, not gin nor a drug, nor the factories, nor the gentleman. To be able to say that was priceless.

Chapter Two

G
AINING
access to the royal archives proved much simpler than one would think. Even though Royal Guards stood at the entrance in their archaic breeches, hose, and lacy ruffs, all Querry had needed was an open window. He found one, and in no time stood among the musty books, documents, and scrolls.

Head down, he slinked among the stacks. The monarchy required permits of those who wished to study here. Querry supposed there were plenty of secrets they’d prefer to leave buried among the mountains of paper. He found the stairs and descended all the way to the lowest level, home of the oldest and rarest documents. No sun reached here. Fancy gas lamps affixed to the walls provided light and their familiar scent. The place reminded Querry of a tomb, silent and still. He searched about and soon realized the floor was arranged like a wheel. Long hallways formed by tall, wooden shelves met in the center. There, beneath a chandelier hanging from a chain, a young man worked at a desk.

Smiling, Querry watched for a few minutes as the man, with thick, dirty blond hair and oval spectacles, wrote with a quill pen. His right hand reached for the ink well as his left thumb made its way to his mouth.

“Still biting your nails?”

The young man dropped his hand like it had been slapped. He scanned the darkened corridors around him. After letting him go for a bit, Querry stepped into the light and approached the desk. A little brass plaque read “Reginald Whitney, Chief Royal Archivist.”

“You can’t be here, Querry,” said the young man.

“And yet here I am.”

“How did you get past the guards?”

“Easy.”

“And what do you want?” the archivist asked, sounding both exasperated and exhausted.

“It’s nice to see you, too, Reg.”

“So, you just dropped in for a visit?” Reg asked, raising one shapely eyebrow.

Querry bit his lower lip and looked guiltily at his shoe.

“As I suspected,” Reg said.

“I just need the tiniest favor,” Querry replied. “Do you think you can help me?”

Reg sighed. “I know I owe you, Querry. All those years that you looked out for me in that hell hole they called an orphanage, and later when they shipped us off to that factory.”

Damn, that hurt.
It hurt so much, and so unexpectedly, that Querry’s words fell unplanned from his lips. “You think I did that so you’d owe me later, Reg? I came here because I thought we were friends. Back then, in the workhouse and in the factory, I looked out for you because you were the only thing I had to live for. I—”

Now Reg looked away, ashamed. His skin shone pale in the gaslight, the dark under his hazel eyes accentuated.

“Have you been sleeping?” Querry asked.

Reg brightened a little, even forcing a smile. He slid his glasses down his nose, folded them, and slipped them into the breast pocket of his coat. “Mother hen, just like when we were boys.”

“Are they keeping you here late?” Querry persisted.

“No, it’s Mum and Dad. They’re on me night and day about marrying. Apparently a royal archivist is good enough to wed an ugly daughter of the aristocracy. They finally see their chance to make it into the nobility. They’ve been setting me up with a different lady, and I use that term in the loosest possible sense, Querry, every night.”

The idea of Reg marrying stirred long-dormant feelings in Querry. To his surprise, he was jealous. “Can’t you just tell them you’re not ready?”

Reg’s shoulders curled forward. He met Querry’s eyes and shook his head. “Querry, the Whitneys adopted me. They took me away from that hellish factory, sent me to University. They gave me a future. All Mum has ever wanted is to be among the nobility, to go to their parties and have tea with them. It’s the one thing she can’t buy, no matter how many cans of fish their factory cranks out. I have to do this.”

“But!”

“It’s life for most of us. Work, marry, raise a family.”

“You’re really willing to be the trophy husband of some inbred hag?”

“Why are you so upset?” Reg asked. “This is what people do. What other alternative do I have? A man lives alone too long, and people start to talk.”

“What about our plan?” Querry asked. He remembered finishing a dinner of stale bread after a day of shoveling coal into a furnace, and going with Reg to their straw-stuffed mats. Looking at Reg now, he saw the soot streaks clearly. He remembered whispering, staying up late even though they’d both been exhausted, planning. Probably because they rarely saw the sky, they’d decided to become traders. They’d get a ship and sail to the remote corners of the Empire, procuring all manner of exotic goods. Night after night they had lain in each other’s arms and fantasized about the places they’d visit. Freedom and fresh air were all they’d wanted, and to be together.

“It was a child’s dream,” Reg said sadly. “I’m sorry, Querry. Not all of us can live by our own rules.”

Watching Reg, Querry remembered the texture of his skin, the way he tasted. He remembered how they’d had to be quiet as they touched and fondled and explored, lest the other factory workers hear. During that horrible time, they’d been each other’s only comfort. Now, maybe irrationally, Querry felt betrayed.

“What is it that you wanted?” Reg asked. Querry thought he heard regret in his friend’s voice.

“Just some records. Anything you have on the house on the corner of Tinkerton and Grace Lane. A floor plan would be perfect.”

“Why that house?” Reg said, shocked.

“What? Why do you ask?”

“Because! The Grande Chancellor requested records on that property this morning. I don’t care for him, so I told him they’d take a few days to locate. And then a few hours ago, the Duchess of Lisine asked for the same records. I have them right here. What’s so special about that house?”

“I have no idea,” Querry said. “I walked by it on my way here today. It’s not in a nice part of town, but it may have been a decent house at one time. It has one of those old stone chimneys in the front, and a big stained glass window. Broken now, though. The roof’s caved in, and the thatch is gone, too, and the garden’s completely overgrown with weeds. It’s falling apart.”

“What do you want with it?”

“Curiosity. One of my clients mentioned it. It was just so random of a thing for him to say.” Querry didn’t expound upon how he felt like a dog following a man with a bucket of innards. He didn’t like being manipulated, but he’d reached the point where he had to know. What did those uppity aristocrats want with it? It could be a cute little place, if somebody fixed it up, but certainly not worthy of a duchess.

“What client?” Reg asked. “Not the faeries again?”

Querry said nothing, but Reg knew his expressions too well.

“Querry, how could you? They’re dangerous! They aren’t like us. They don’t care who they hurt.”

“They care,” Querry said. “They just change their minds a lot. But don’t worry. I know how to handle them. So, a faerie gentleman, the Duchess of Lisine, and Lord Thimbleroy. This just gets more intriguing.”

“Well, if the Grande Chancellor wants the house, the duchess will try to stop him. She just doesn’t like him. They argue in the Hall of Nobility every day about spending city taxes on the clock tower, and about foreigner’s rights. I’ve heard that it gets pretty heated. Raised voices and personal insults.”

“So she just wants to thwart Lord Thimbleroy,” Querry mused. “But what about my gentleman?”

“
Your
gentleman might just want to thwart him too. Lord Thimbleroy is the leading voice in favor of faerie eradication.”

“No,” Querry said. “It isn’t like that. They really don’t care. If they did, they’d just kill him.”

They sat thinking for a long time, until finally Querry said, “So tell me what you know about the place.”

“That’s just the thing,” Reg said. “The place is nothing special, just like you said. It was built a little over a hundred years ago and belonged to a doll maker and his family. His wife and daughter died during the plague, and he died fifty years later. He bequeathed the property to an illegitimate son, who never showed up to claim it. It’s been empty ever since.”

“So it’s been abandoned for half a century or so, and all of the sudden everyone’s interested? Why?”

Reg shrugged. “It doesn’t make any sense. The man made toys. Elaborate ones, with some of the first clockwork parts, but still just playthings for spoiled children.”

“Floor plan?” Querry asked.

“Sorry,” Reg said. “I guess nobody thought it was that important.”

“But it must be,” Querry said. “There must be something there. Something valuable.”

“I don’t see how there could be,” Reg answered. “It would have been looted a long time ago.”

“Something’s going on.”

“I have to admit, I’m curious now too,” Reg said, brushing his fringe away from his forehead. “I’m sure you’ll break in?”

“I don’t know if you can call it breaking in,” Querry said, feigning innocence. “But I’ll have a look.”

“I’ll keep my ears open here.” Reg looked up. When their eyes met, Querry noticed the old conspiratorial gleam. Reg hoped something would happen, an adventure like they’d fantasized about as boys, something that might save him from his predetermined future and dull occupation. Maybe he still carried hope for the two of them, but Querry didn’t know for sure.

“We should get together,” Querry said. He couldn’t help it. For a minute, he’d seen his old Reg again, and that glimpse towed behind it a host of other images. Watching Reg’s face in the low light, Querry could picture his cheeks darkening, his full lips falling open, and the little crease forming between his brows. He saw Reg throw his head back and bite his lower lip to stay quiet.

“Why are you looking at me like that?”

“I miss you,” Querry admitted. “Could we go somewhere? I have a little money.”

“Querry, we’ve talked about this. We can’t.”

“Why?”

“It just isn’t done. I know that never stops you from anything, but if anyone found out the Whitneys would be ruined. Those few times we met in secret were dangerous enough. Consorting in public is out of the question.”

“Don’t want any of your rich friends to see you slumming?”

“You know that’s not what I mean. I don’t feel that way and never have!”

“In private then,” Querry said. “Tell me where.”

“I have an engagement tonight. The fair daughter of Baron Cackleberry.”

Querry strode to the desk and grabbed Reg by the back of the neck, remembering all too well that his friend enjoyed a little force. He leaned in until their noses touched tip to tip. Sure enough, he saw a line of sweat sparkling above Reg’s lip, heard the urgency of his breath. “You still want me, don’t say you don’t.”