"It bloody hurts!"
I kissed the top of his bald head. "I know. You cradle your hand while I make you some hot chocolate."
He sat there while I packed away the kit and he didn't get up as I broke the chocolate pieces into the saucepan. I made a cup for him and one for me, and I tried to get him to return to his usual gruff self by getting him to talk about the carnivals his father used to take him to as a child, but it was no use. I sent him to bed when he finished his chocolate.
I cleaned his knives and washed the saucepan and cups then sat down to my sewing. I pulled the lamp in close so I could see the dark blue ribbon against the pale blue fabric of the dress. It was the only dress I owned that wasn't a uniform. I'd only worn it once, preferring to keep it for special occasions. Unfortunately, there'd been no special occasions. I'd worn it one time when I went out, merely to get some use out of it. I resolved to wear it more now that I'd sewn Lincoln's ribbon into the waistline.
I was packing my pins away when I heard a brisk knock at the back door. It must have been almost eleven o'clock; far too late for callers or deliveries. I thought about fetching Cook, but whoever it was might have given up by then. The knock came again, more urgent this time.
"Who is it?" I called out.
"I come from Mr. Lee," came a small voice. It belonged to either a child or a woman, but I still didn't open the door.
"What do you want?"
"Mr. Lee sends a message for Mr. Fitzroy."
"What about?"
The person hesitated, perhaps considering if he or she should deliver the message to someone who wasn't the intended recipient. "Mr. Fitzroy wanted to be told if the captain returned."
I unlocked the door and opened it. A boy no older than fourteen stood there, shivering in clothes too small for his growing limbs. I ushered him inside and through to the kitchen, and he immediately went to stand by the warm range, like a moth attracted to a flame.
"Has the captain returned to Mr. Lee's?" I asked him.
He peered at me through his long, dirty hair. He had Oriental eyes, but he wasn't a full-blooded Chinese. "Mr. Lee sent me here to tell Mr. Fitzroy."
"Thank you. Mr. Fitzroy will be very satisfied. I'll inform him shortly. Did you get a look at the captain?"
The boy shook his head.
"What is the captain doing now?" I asked.
"Watching someone."
"Watching one of Mr. Lee's…customers?"
He nodded again and rubbed his hands more vigorously. They were dirty and red raw, and the boy's clothes were so thin. He at least wore shoes, but his toes poked through.
"Stay here. Don't steal anything." I hurried out of the kitchen and up the stairs. I found a spare coat and pair of gloves in Seth's room and ran back down to the kitchen again. The boy was exactly where I'd left him. I handed over the garments then asked him to wait. I found some bread and cheese in the pantry and handed the lot to him.
"Thank you for reporting in," I said to the lad, who now stared back at me as if he'd seen a remarkable vision. "You may go now. Be careful. It's dark out and the streets are dangerous."
"Thank you, miss." He scooped up the food and his new possessions and dashed for the door as if he were afraid I'd change my mind.
I locked the door behind him and considered what to do. I didn't know where Seth, Gus and Lincoln were, precisely. They could be anywhere in the city. And Cook was in no state to head out. It was up to me.
Lincoln would be furious if I went alone. So I wouldn't go alone. I'd find myself a bodyguard. And I knew just the place where hundreds, if not thousands, could be found, if one were a necromancer.
The glow of my lantern wasn't bright enough to penetrate the fog that blanketed the cemetery grounds. Its ghostly form swirled about my trouser legs as I padded over the dense layer of fallen leaves and picked my way between graves. It wasn't easy to avoid tree roots and headstones, which seemed to emerge from nowhere, but I managed not to fall over or get lost. I knew my way to my mother's grave, and Gordon Thackery's wasn't too far from there.
It wasn't so much the lack of visibility that stretched my nerves to breaking point but the silence. There was no wind, and the fog dampened all sounds. If anyone followed me, I wouldn't be able to hear them. Even my own footsteps were deadened by the fog and damp leaves.
Before I'd become fully aware of my powers as a necromancer, I would never have ventured into a cemetery at night for fear of ghouls and demons, but now that I knew I could control spirits, that fear had vanished. I was perhaps safer in a place where I could call up the dead than I was anywhere else. All I needed was a name and a body, and I was surrounded by names on headstones and bodies in graves.
But I only wanted one. Gordon had proved himself to be a good soul, and he'd offered to help again if we needed him. I hoped he hadn't changed his mind.
I recognized the large tree that the grounds keeper had sat under. Gordon's gravestone was nearby, the earth still bare from his reburial.
"Gordon Moreland Thackery's spirit, can you hear me?" My voice was swallowed by the fog. I cleared my throat and tried again, louder. "I summon Gordon Thackery here to speak to me."
A smoky wisp shot out of the fog, straight at me. I dropped the lantern and fell backward with a yelp.
"Are you all right?" the ghostly figure asked. "I am sorry, Miss Charlie, I have no control over my speed when I arrive."
"Gordon! It's so nice to see you again."
He smiled. "I would help you up…"
I stood and picked up my lantern. "Are you, er, well?"
He chuckled. "My afterlife goes well, yes. And you?" He looked me up and down. "How long has it been since I was last here?"
"A few days. I need your help again, but only if you're up to it. I don't like disturbing you like this."
"I would be glad to help if I can." The misty spirit spun round. "Where is your man?"
"Don't let Mr. Fitzroy hear you call him my man. He's my employer. He's not here tonight, which is why I need you. I want you to act as a sort of guard for me. I have to visit Mr. Lee's opium den. The captain is there, and this might be our only chance to find him. Unfortunately, Mr. Fitzroy and his men are out looking for him elsewhere, and I only got the message from Mr. Lee now. I'm afraid if I miss this opportunity, it could be some time before we find him again."
"It's rather brave of you to undertake the task alone."
"I won't be alone, I'll have you."
He frowned. "Lee's is not a place for ladies."
"Thank you, Gordon, but I'm not a lady and I've been in far more disreputable places, I'm sure. I lived on the streets for five years."
His lips formed an O. He nodded. "Very well. If you're up for an adventure then so am I."
"Excellent! Shall we get started?"
We both glanced at his grave. Last time, his body had already been above ground. This time it had to break free of a coffin and dig through several feet of earth. "I wish I'd thought it through a little more," I said. "Do you think you can manage?"
"Let's see." The mist swirled and dove down into the grave, disturbing nothing, not even the nearby leaves at my feet.
I waited. Nothing happened. I set the lantern down near the head of the grave and flipped the hood of my old cloak back. Still nothing happened. It must be too much of a task. He had to somehow push off the coffin lid with all that soil pressing down on it. He might have superior strength, but—
The earth pulsed. I rested a hand on the headstone and leaned closer to get a better look. The soil was definitely moving, as if something underneath pushed it up.
Come on, Gordon, you can do it.
Dirt trickled down from the center of the grave as it rose upward to form a mound. Then a hand punched through. For the second time that night, I yelped and fell backward. I scrambled to my feet again and watched, fascinated, as Gordon pulled himself free of his grave. Any innocent bystanders would have run screaming from the cemetery, but I was transfixed.
When he finally stepped free, he smiled at me. "I'm a little filthier," he said, inspecting himself. "How do I look otherwise?"
Like he'd decayed more in the short space of time since I'd last seen him. His eyes and cheeks had sunken further and his skin now sported a tinge of green, although to be fair, it was difficult to see in the poor light. "Er…like a dead man."
"That bad?" He screwed up his face. "I suppose it's inevitable. I wonder how long it will be before I'm nothing but bones."
"A little while longer, yet." I don't know why I wanted to reassure him. He was very matter-of-fact about his decay; I, on the other hand, was somewhat saddened by it. "Are you ready?"
He dusted off some of the dirt from his suit, but he was still covered in it. His hands in particular were filthy. "I'd offer you my arm, but I don't want to sicken you."
"I'm not sickened," I said, holding out my hand.
He hesitated then with a smile, offered his elbow. I slipped my hand into it, picked up the lantern, and headed out of the cemetery with him like an ordinary couple going for a stroll. I giggled at the macabre image we cut, earning a smile from Gordon in return. Unfortunately, one of his teeth fell out, and he shut his mouth again.
We passed through the Highgate Cemetery gate and I nodded at the two horses tied up nearby. "It's too far to walk so I brought transportation." I'd managed to saddle them on my own; Seth had taught me how. I'd brought the two most docile horses in the stables and prayed they wouldn't be spooked by the ethereal quiet of the foggy night, or by Gordon.
I'd left a note on the kitchen table for Cook. I didn't want to wake him and he wouldn't have been as useful as Gordon anyway. Hopefully I'd be back before he or one of the others read it. No doubt it would cause alarm, despite my assurance that Gordon could protect me.
"Do you know the way to Lee's?" he asked me.
"Not precisely. Lower Pell Lane is near the docks, but that's all I know."
"I'm well familiar with it," he said drily. "I could find my way there with my eyes closed."
He held my horse while I mounted, then spent a moment to familiarize himself with the other. It shied away from him at first, but a few gentle words and pats coaxed it to stand still and allow him to mount. Even so, its ears twitched back and forth and its nostrils flared.
We rode south as quickly as I dared. With no traffic to get in the way, it was an easy ride, thank goodness. Gordon was more comfortable on horseback than me, as most gentlemen would be, and he frequently had to stop and wait. We dismounted in a tavern yard around the corner from Lower Pell Lane and paid a tired looking stable lad to mind the horses. Gordon clung to the shadows as I completed the transaction.
Despite the late hour, a few drunkards came and went from the tavern but took no notice of us. Dressed in my boys' trousers, I blended in. We were a few streets north of the actual docks, and aside from taverns and alehouses, there were shops selling wares that travelers or sailors might need. All were shut up for the night, some with lamps valiantly trying to ward off thieves, all with heavy locks on doors.
I held my lantern high and walked swiftly to keep up with Gordon. We headed away from Ratcliff Highway, through an arch, along a narrow passage and into a courtyard crammed with tenements. Faded signs hung above doors announcing that lodgings could be had within. There were other signs too, in a script I couldn't understand.
Gordon fixed on a door with the symbol of a dragon etched into the wood. "This is it," he said. "Lee has rooms inside and a man on the door. He'll scream blue murder if we're police, but shouldn't put up a fuss when he sees it's just two lads, especially if I use Mr. Lee's name. He's had this establishment a few years now, ever since the authorities began cracking down on the dens, and he had to leave his shop for something more discreet. Be prepared, Miss Charlie. It's a hovel."
I drew in a deep breath and nodded at the door. "I'm ready."
He pulled up the collar of his suit to cover his chin and mouth and drew some of his hair over his face. A few strands fell out as he did so. He knocked and the door was opened by a Chinaman with a long black ponytail and sleepy eyes. His age was difficult to discern, but his face was quite youthful. The smell of smoke drifted to us, tickling my nose.
Gordon bowed before the man could fully see his face. "Is Mr. Lee in? I've brought a friend with me this time."
The Chinaman bowed and so did I. When he straightened, he indicated we should go through. "Mr. Lee at home," he said and sat again on a stool by the door.
We headed up a flight of wooden stairs. The burning smell grew stronger, but it wasn't quite the same smell as a fireplace. It was more acrid, and the closer we drew to the room at the top of the stairs, the more my eyes watered.
Gordon opened the door and the fumes almost overpowered me. I coughed into the haze of smoke and wiped tears from my stinging eyes. Gordon took my arm. His eyes were fine. He would be unaffected by such mortal things as opium fumes.
As my eyes adjusted, I saw that the room was quite small. Clothing and bedsheets hung from the ceiling on string, but for what purpose, I couldn't say. If Mr. Lee did his laundry in there, it would never be free of the smoke. A large bed occupied most of the room, but there were two other narrow beds as well, two chairs, a table and stove. When I realized how many people lay on the three beds, my jaw dropped. There were two on each of the smaller cots, lying curled on their sides, and at least four or five on the bigger bed. It was difficult to determine the number as the limbs were splayed here and there, and the bodies packed together. One or two raised their heads upon our entry, but most simply lay there in a stupor, writhing every now and again, like snakes. Even more men sat or lay on the floor, pipes drooping from their mouths. Most stared vacantly, but a few were intent on their conversations or lighting their pipes.
An ancient Chinaman shuffled over to meet us. As with the fellow downstairs, he wore his hair in a long ponytail. His face, however, was quite a shock. It held little more life than Gordon's. The pallor was almost the same, the eyes and cheeks were just as sunken, and the bones at his shoulders protruded through his clothing. The corpse-like figure bowed at us and we bowed back.
"Mr. Lee," Gordon said. "It has been some time since I've been."
Mr. Lee searched Gordon's face for signs of recognition. Either he found some or he thought he must be a friend since he'd greeted him by name, because he ushered us inside. He didn't seem to realize he'd welcomed a dead man in. Now that I was closer, I could see the smokers more clearly. They were from all walks of life; some with English faces, but others different shades of brown, Oriental and one even appeared to be a woman with red hair that fanned out on the pillow like a disheveled aura. She opened her heavy lidded eyes, muttered something, then closed them again and rolled on her side, away from us.
Mr. Lee led us to the table, where a small lamp burned and some pipes had been laid out beside a box. He indicated we should sit, and I realized he was going to prepare us an opium pipe.
I shook my head. "No, no. We're looking for someone. A man." I left Gordon to explain while I moved around the room, checking each face. Of the Englishmen there, none wore spectacles and all were under the effects of opium. If the captain had been there earlier, he wasn't there now.
I rubbed my temple and my fingers came away slippery with sweat. I removed my jacket and slung it over the back of one of the chairs then plopped down on the chair itself. My legs felt heavy, as if they didn't belong to me, and I worried I wouldn't be able to walk out again.
A hand settled on my shoulder, startling me. I jumped, but it was Gordon. Except his hand bore no skin. It was only bone and sinew now. How had he deteriorated so quickly? I blinked and his hand returned to normal. How peculiar.
"Are you all right?" he asked me, frowning.
"I think I'm seeing things."
"Hallucinations. It's the opium doing that to you. You're small and unused to it. It'll affect you easily. We'll go soon."
I nodded again, but wasn't sure how well I managed the motion with such a heavy head.
"There's another room through there." He pointed to a doorway I hadn't seen before. There was no door, only a curtain hanging from a string. "That's where the wealthier customers go. That's where we'll find him."
"Him," I repeated dully. "The captain?"
His hand patted my shoulder then he headed toward the curtain. Mr. Lee settled down onto a floor cushion in the corner of the room and picked up a pipe. He didn't seem to care what we did.
I hauled myself to my feet and followed Gordon. The room beyond the curtain was just as smoky but a lamp burned through the haze, providing more light than the candles in the main room. There was only one bed with one man lying on it, his body so thin that he was almost flat. Another man sat on the bed at his side, his back to us. He held a syringe against the unconscious man's arm. He was going to inject him!
"Stop!" I cried, lunging forward. I lost my balance and Gordon caught me, but I lost sight of the men in the process.
Then someone appeared at my side. Not Gordon. He wore spectacles and seemed quite alert, compared to the opium addicts. The captain! He held up a syringe filled with dark red liquid. Blood?
Bile rose to my throat. I covered my mouth and somehow managed not to vomit.
"Who're you?" the man said in cultured, crisp tones.
"Good evening, Captain," Gordon said.
I'd sunk to my knees at some point, and now looked up to see the man known as the captain stare at Gordon, his jaw slack. He lifted a hand to Gordon's face, but pulled back without touching. Gordon smiled and the captain recoiled altogether.