Wicked Gentlemen (5 page)

The brilliant glazes were darkened with lamp smoke and factory grease now, but the images were still discernable. Some-where among the glittering host of demons, one of my own ancestors stood. They all looked fierce and beautiful. I found it difficult to imagine that I could have descended from such creatures.

The blood had certainly thinned.

The carved temples and catacombs that had once been a city of hope had decayed into dank ghetto. Hundreds of tunnels riddled Hells Below now. City sewer pipes and massive gas lines invaded every space and dripped with condensation. The lattice of temple walls had collapsed. Now, vast caverns gaped wide with tenement houses and ore sluices. The children of hell's greatest lords had been bred down into coal miners.

Relegated by law to the confines of the capital city, few Prodigals even attempted to leave Hells Below. They stayed down where they at least had each other for company, as well as the comfort of cavernous darkness. Only the worst of our kind lived in the city above. Criminals, exiles, and addicts. I supposed I fit all three descriptions at one time or another.

"Did you want me to carry this beef pie around for some purpose?" Harper asked.

"I thought you might want to eat it," I replied, though in truth I had just wanted to get rid of it.

"One was more than enough." Harper suddenly turned and rushed back up several of the steps. He stopped in front of a woman who had been working her way up the stairs and handed her the pie. Then he strode back down beside me.

"Well, that takes care of that," he said.

"Was she a Prodigal?" I glanced back quickly at the woman, but the sun from above burned out most of my vision. All I had noticed as she passed me on the steps had been the numerous lace shawls that hung over her back and arms. She moved slowly, as if she were either extremely old or extremely drunk.

"Bright yellow eyes and fingernails blacker than yours," Harper commented. "I couldn't see her ears, but I don't doubt they were pointed. Her teeth sure as hell were. She hissed at me too." He seemed amused by this.

"She probably thought you were handing her poison." I looked meaningfully at the silver eyes of the Inquisition that glinted from either side of Harper's collar.

"Not every man joins the Inquisition just to burn Prodigals. We uphold the law as well," Harper said as we continued down the stairs. "Sooner or later, some of you are bound to figure that out."

"I wouldn't bet my bread money on that." I had to glance away to suppress the flare of anger that rushed through me. I knew quite well how the men of the Inquisition dealt with Prodigals. I had been burned once myself, but that was long past and none of Harper's business.

"We are a surprisingly stubborn bunch," I said.

"So you are." Harper smiled.

We stepped down into the heavy darkness of Hells Below. The warm air hung over us in swathes. The thick flavors of so many Prodigals living so close saturated every breath with a taste like a heavy chemical perfume. The scents rolled into each other, smell-ing by turns of violets, sulfur, urine, and fragrant lamps. It wasn't easy to take in. Each breath was like a long drag from a cigarette. I had forgotten how familiar its taste was.

Harper coughed and had to take several slow breaths before he adjusted to the air.

As we walked, I noticed the skin on his exposed cheeks began to take on a pink flush as though it was sunburned. His eyes seemed irritated also. Harper just pulled his cap a little lower and continued moving as if it was no trouble to him at all. In fact, he seemed as familiar with the place as he had been with the bars of Brighton.

He strode through the narrow streets with the natural ease of a man who had been here before. He took alley shortcuts without glancing up to check a street name or number.

"Do you come here often?" I asked as we trudged down a narrow side road. The gaslight of the streetlamps flickered. Drops of condensed breath, sweat, and steam spattered down on us from the cavern ceiling far above.

"Have I surprised you?" Harper glanced sidelong at me.

"No." I didn't like the smugness of his tone. "I just thought that you would be more acquainted with Brighton than Hells Below."

"I did my first three years of foot patrol down here." Harper stepped onto a walkway of planks. I followed him. Oily liquid lapped up from just below the wooden boards as we walked over them.

"Did you make many Prodigal friends while you were here?" I asked, knowing that he couldn't have.

"Of course not." Harper looked back at me. "Did you ask just to hear me say so?"

"That could very well be the case." I grinned, showing Harper my long white teeth.

"You really are quite unique, aren't you, Mr. Sykes?" he said.

Harper's words satisfied me strangely. If he had complimented my wild black hair or my butter-colored eyes, I would have thought he was mocking me and hated him for it. If he had called me twisted or perverse, I would have secretly thought of jabbing him in the eye. But somehow he had known just the right words to give me a burst of warmth. I glanced ahead to the street number on one of the gray shale houses, deliberately ignoring Harper so that he would not know how his words pleased me.

"That's the one." I pointed to the hulking blue building just ahead of us.

"So it is," Harper replied.

The woman who answered the door looked at Harper intently for several moments before she let us in. She was tall, pale, and waxy. There was a transparency to her skin. The lamplight in the house seemed to glow through her. The shadows she cast were faint.

She walked us down a narrow hall and into a large, window-less waiting room in absolute silence. Her pale yellow dress didn't even rustle as she walked.

The waiting room seemed like it had been nice a long time ago. The chair I sat in rocked on its uneven legs. A dust of incense ash rose up from the upholstered arms. Harper seated himself on the high-backed settee across from me. Its red upholstery was dappled with faded shades of pink and brown. Dozens of mismatched candles covered the heavy wooden table in the middle of the room. Dried spills of wax drooped over the edge of the tabletop and clung to the carved legs.

There was a deeply familiar scent in the air. Something like mulled wine. I had smelled it before, a long time ago. I took a deep breath and held the taste in my mouth. It was smoky and warm. Tiny tongues of scent and heat caressed the insides if my mouth. It tasted like demonic conjuring. Uneasiness seeped through my muscles.

The woman who had shown us in pulled the door closed. She flipped the lock and stared at Harper, her waxen features melting into an expression of rage.

"So, Captain, have you brought this man in exchange for Roffcale?" She waved her hand at me. "Did you think that's all it would take for you to walk back in here and get out alive?"

"This is Belimai Sykes." Harper's eyes were once again hidden. His mouth was as expressionless as a gash. "He's a private consultant whom I have hired to investigate the circumstances of Joan's disappearance."

"And what about Peter, you bastard?" She raised her thin white hands. Her black nails glittered in the lamplight like chips of flint. "You said you'd have him back by morning. You said he'd be fine."

"I'm sorry about Roffcale, Mica." Harper's voice was flat, the same way it had been when he had first hired me. "There's an internal inquiry going on right now. We'll find out what happened and the guilty party will be punished."

"What? Is that another of your promises, Captain?" she snapped.

"I can't give you more than my word, Mica." Harper leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees. He steepled his gloved fingers beneath his mouth. "You know as well as I do that I didn't kill Roffcale."

 
"How do I know that?" Mica demanded.

"I wouldn't be here if I had." Harper let out a tired sigh. "Mica, someone got to Roffcale in prison, and the same person took Joan. I have to find out who it was. I need help to do that."

"I should tear you to pieces," Mica said.

"Help us find Roffcale's murderer," Harper said quietly. "Then you can rip me into as many shreds as you like."

"I just might, Harper." Mica glared at him, then glanced away. "So, what do you want? More of our people to sacrifice for your sister's sake?"

Harper didn't respond to the accusation. He simply answered her first question as if she hadn't said anything else.

"I just need to talk to Nick," Harper said.

"You honestly think he'll do anything for you, after this?" Mica asked.

"I'm the lesser of two evils. If he doesn't help me, then he ensures that these killings go on."

"You're a heartless bastard, Harper."

Harper said nothing. At last Mica turned the lock and opened the door.

"I'll get him." She left the room.

"You take me to the nicest places," I whispered to Harper.

"You're the one who decided we should come here." Harper leaned back into the padding of the settee.

"You might have mentioned that all the members of Good Commons were going to want to kill you before we walked in."

"What's life without a few surprises?" Harper flashed his hand up at me. "Don't answer that. It was a rhetorical question."

"Are you still drunk from last night?" I asked.

"No." Harper smiled. "Having my life threatened always makes me a little giddy."

"Giddy?"

"I have to find my pleasures where I can."

"I'd be hesitant to call that exchange with Mica pleasant." I scraped at a droplet of wax on the arm of my chair.

"You ought to allow a man to retain his conceits, Mr. Sykes."

The slight smile on Harper's lips sank back to a flat line. "It wasn't pleasant. It shouldn't have been. I gave her my word that Roffcale would be safe in my care... He should have been safe."

"Yes, he should have been."

Both Harper and I looked up at the man who stepped through the doorway. I stared at him for several moments longer than his sudden entry deserved. It was strange to be startled, not by his silent appearance, but by the familiarity of his face and voice. He, too, seemed taken off guard by the sight of me.

I should have known from the moment I tasted the air in the room. The scent of conjuring melted with the musk of his sweat and the camphor oil he rubbed into his skin to give it a golden sheen. It was the singular essence of Nickolas Sariel.

He had hardly changed, despite the years. His eyes were still the color of opium poppies. His hair was like fire, winding through streaks of smoky red, yellow, and white. His black nails had grown longer, but they still gleamed with the same carefully filed edges.

I saw him take in a quick breath of the air as he stared at me. He would have expected to smell fresh ink and the must of old books lingering on me. But I was no longer the man he had known, and the scents of my body had become far more bitter.

"Belimai?" He whispered my name as he came closer.

There was an instant when I wanted to say yes. But a stinging pain flared through the prayers engraved into my skin.

"No." I glanced down at the wax spattered arm of my chair. "I'm afraid you've mistaken me for someone else. I'm sorry."

That was all I had to say. Sariel would not allow himself to ask a second time. He immediately turned to Harper.

"So, Captain, Mica tells me you want my help."

Harper paused for a moment, looking between Sariel and myself. We said nothing. Harper shook his head and pressed on.

"I need you to reach Joan if you can."

"Are you asking me to use my powers as the presiding officer of Good Commons? Or were you thinking of something less in keeping with the law?" Sariel crossed his arms over his chest.
 
"Because if it's the latter, I want you to understand that the price runs very high. I won't work for free, not for you."

"You're not the first devil I've dealt with." Harper gestured to me but Sariel didn't look. "I'm aware of the going rates." Harper reached into his jacket and dropped several gold coins into Sariel's hand.

I couldn't help but wonder where Harper was coming up with all the money. Perhaps Talbott was financing him. That, or he was bankrupting himself. It bothered me that I didn't know his nature well enough to decide if he would use another man's money or only his own.

Sariel studied the coins in his hand, then shook his head. "I was thinking of a little more, Captain Harper."

Harper handed Sariel more fistfuls of coins. Harper went through every one of the pockets of his coat and even gave Sariel his watch and chain. He did it in a matter of a fact manner. If there was any expression on his face, it might have been that look of slight amusement that seemed to pass over his lips at the strangest times.

"That's all I have," Harper said at last. "If you want more, you'll have to wait until I'm paid at the end of the month."

"All I wanted was everything you had." Sariel piled the coins on the table without even counting them. I counted them. He had taken almost ten times what Harper had paid me.

"I'll hold the summons here." Sariel pushed the door shut.