Drowning Lessons: Pt III
PART II
**
"Avast, knave," Iero pronounced, standing on the settee, holding his cape out dramatically with one hand and holding an invisible sword with the other. "Unhand that cake."
"'Tis fair-won," Walker said, from next to Ryan. "I did battle with two drains and was granted it as a boon from the kitchen-king."
Iero, wobbled briefly then hopped down to firmer ground and swished the cloak around dramatically. Walker set the cake down on a nearby table and stood up, shaking out his clothes, then raised a hand, in which he grasped an invisible sword of his own.
"Lay on," Spencer called out, from the other side of the couch, and they danced through a brief battle.
Ryan shifted uneasily - he still wasn't quite accustomed to the sailors' playful aggression - and adjusted his moat of overflowing baskets of mending. He had been truly astounded at the number of torn handkerchiefs, ripped shirts, distressed trousers and other casualties of Iero's peg leg and the Ways' general inattention to the safety of their clothing he had found while accompanying Spencer on his evening rounds.
"Arm," Spencer called out, and Iero tucked his non-sword hand behind his back.
Ryan snagged a particularly abused shirt from one of his piles and put fresh thread in his needle. He was intent on reattaching a ruffle when the noise from mock-battle abruptly died away. Alarmed by the silence Ryan raised his head and found Mr. Way standing in the doorway wearing an almost apologetic expression. Iero and Walker were frozen at attention, and even Spencer had stood up.
"Be at ease," Mr. Way said, and the other three relaxed a fraction. "Mr. Ross, might I borrow Belle from you for an hour?"
Belle, who of course had her own ideas on the subject, had not bothered to wait for Ryan's stammered agreement, and was already lumbering to her feet. Ryan patted her flank as she shimmed out from under his legs. He did not permit himself to contemplate the possibility that Mr. Way might take her permanently, though of course he had full right to do so.
The silence lingered even after the door had closed. Finally Iero extracted himself from the cloak and flopped down on the settee.
"Surprised to see Himself out and about, he's been holed up in the gov'nor's study all day," Iero muttered. "Toro couldn't even coax him out with a jam tart."
Ryan curled in on himself a little further. Mr. Way had been holed up in his brother's study for several days, not just one, though Spencer reported he was eating everything Toro sent up for him. Since being liberated from his sickbed, Ryan himself had only caught the briefest of glimpses of the man. So far the encounters had all occurred when Ryan was struggling with some sort of simple task, or trailing behind Spencer, clutching pieces of laundry with one hand and Belle's soft nape with the other.
"I should look in on the horses," Walker said, standing up. "Good night, gentlemen."
Ryan joined in the general murmur and tried to refocus on the ruffle, but it was no use, he couldn't concentrate without Belle's silky muzzle resting on his foot. He set the shirt aside and occupied himself with folding handkerchiefs. After a moment, Iero picked up his knitting and started in on a story about Tortuga, which distracted everyone else so that they didn't notice Ryan's level of fretful inactivity.
He was on the verge of getting up to escape to his room - or trying anyway, he couldn't get far without Belle to lean on - when the door opened again and Belle loped in wearing a most unusual apparatus. When she leaned against his knees to demand ear-scritchies Ryan found it was a harness, made of smooth supple black leather and finished with silver. There was a cane-head-shaped hook nestled between her broad shoulders, and on each side there were saddlebags large enough to accommodate buttons, small items of clothing, and, if Syclla's tiny face peeping out at him was any measure, the occasional terrier.
"Come, try it out," Way said, and Ryan hurried to obey.
He moved with such haste that he almost fell, and Spencer had to grab him about the waist to steady him. Belle whuffled and nudged him with her head. Ryan curled forward to hug her, laughing a little as she licked his face. Then, conscious of Way's gaze, he curled his crippled hand around the cane-head and stepped carefully over his baskets.
Belle whuffled and shook herself, but came easily enough when Ryan guided her towards the door. Way stepped aside to let them pass, though not before Ryan saw that he was fighting to suppress a grin. Ryan tightened his grip on the harness and led Belle on a slow circuit between the door of the sewing room and his bedroom and back again.
"Thank you, sir," Ryan said, as soon as Way was in earshot.
"It was my pleasure, Mr. Ross," Way said, his grin breaking free. "I wish you the joy of it. Good night, gentlemen."
He executed an awkward half bow and strode off towards his room. The others burst into excited chatter as soon as his door was closed, Iero exclaiming loudly on finding his dog lurking in one of the panniers. Ryan sat down on the floor, still too overwhelmed to make any serious contribution to the conversation.
After a moment, though, the others remembered their manners, and the lateness of the hour. Iero extracted his dog and departed, humming under his breath for the first time in days, while Spencer gathered Ryan off the floor and helped him back to their room.
That night, Ryan fell asleep easily, nestled under Spencer's arm, with the harness clutched to his chest.
**
The kitchen was very quiet with Bryar away with the Captain, and meals especially so. Spencer could hardly admit it to anyone, but he missed Bryar reading the headlines aloud to in a satirical manner over breakfast, and trading ribald stories with Iero over dinner. It was also quiet by necessity, since Mr. Way had started joining them for meals. Toro and Iero seemed unphased, but it made Spencer nervous. Ryan was reduced to picking awkwardly at his food, and Spencer had taken to carrying spare rolls and bits of fruit in his pockets for when Ryan grew hungry.
"Mr. Smith," Mr. Way said, as Spencer was reaching for the marmalade. "There's a faire on in town today. Mr. Iero and I will be going up with the wagon, and I would be pleased if you and Mr. Ross would come along."
"A faire?" Spencer repeated, and winced at his idiotic tone.
"Aye, a proper faire, with stalls full of shiny trinkets," Iero said, sitting down at the table and snagging a piece of ham. "Also pasties. I heard a rumor there's to be a dunking booth. I'm going to sink the vicar if it's the last thing I do."
Spencer gave Ryan an inquiring glance. Ryan met his gaze with wide-eyed alarm, but still nodded his assent.
"Smashing," Way murmured, reaching for the tall pile of letters on the silver salver near his plate. "We'll depart in an hour. Mr. Smith, you'll help Mr. Iero bring the carriage around when you're finished here."
"Yes sir," Spencer said, and applied himself to his breakfast.
As usual he kept an eye on Mr. Way as he read his post. That day's pile was quite large, and his expression darkened noticeably as he made his way through it. A couple of times he hissed through his teeth; once he mumbled a string of very rude words.
"Any word from the captain?" Toro asked, as Iero dumped sugar into his tea.
"Yes," Mr. Way said absently. "He reports that he has been to several festive gatherings and found them tedious; the mamas of Bath are as relentless as ever in pursuit of husbands for their darlings, and the gentlemen zealous in their search for wives; that he is disraught at the level to which he has blackened my name around town, and so far with nothing to show for it; and that both Mr. Conrad and Mr. Bryar send their affectionate greetings and wish to be remembered to everyone in the pub."
Iero made a wry noise into his tea, then drained his mug and stood up. "Come on, Smith, the horses aren't going to bridle themselves."
Spencer cleared his and Ryan's dishes quickly, then followed Iero out to the barn. He was moving a touch slower than usual, and favoring his peg. Spencer clamped down on the fresh wave of worry that washed over him and focused on the complicated business of getting the horses out of their stalls.
The faire, when they got there, was thronged with people. Spencer was surprised when Mr. Way gave each of them a handful of coins and waved them off with a command to enjoy themselves, and to meet himself and Mr. Iero outside the pub in two hours time, but he didn't argue.
"Set us a course, Mr. Ross," Spencer said, grunting with both pain and laughter when Ryan stuck a pointy elbow into his ribs.
In truth Spencer was a bit flummoxed. It had been years since he'd been at a faire (and not chained, part of his brain filled in, but Spencer dodged away from those memories), much less with money to spend. Ryan seemed equally confused, which did make him feel a bit better.
"We'll just go around the green," Spencer decided, shifting his feet as Ryan tightened his grip on his arm. "Perhaps there will be an especially fine prize pig."
Ryan made a low, amused noise, and Spencer took off towards the nearest pasty-stall at a sedate pace. Once fortified, they struck out to explore the various delights on offer. They paused to rest on several occasions, sitting variously on the ledge of the well and the grass, and once on a low wall, to watch several small boys fail to dunk the vicar. Ryan grew increasingly agitated as the day wore on, and Spencer regretted that Mr. Way had decreed Belle had to be left at home for reasons of space in the carriage, as she always had a calming effect on him.
They were on their way to the meeting point, full of pasties and sugary treats and clutching bags of trifles, when a group of whooping children almost knocked Ryan over. Spencer steadied him easily, then diverted them to a back alley, where it was quiet and Ryan could hobble along at his own pace.
They were so busy rehashing the events of the day they didn't notice the bundle of rags in the path until Ryan fell over it. He was more startled than hurt; the only reason they noticed anything amiss was because Ryan paused to wipe his hands off, and the bundle of rags sprouted a bare, dirty foot. Ryan jumped back and almost fell down again, but Spencer caught him.
Then Spencer knelt down and investigated the bundle. He peeled back a layer or two and found a person, a tiny, brown-haired person, who was glassy-eyed with fever, filthy, and too-thin. He felt Ryan lean on his shoulders, peering down at the person from above, and held very still. The tiny person didn't have any identification that Spencer could see.
Spencer put a hand down for balance, then looked over his shoulder at Ryan.
"We can't leave him here," Ryan whispered, tightening his grip on Spencer's shoulder.
Spencer hummed his agreement, and sighed heavily. The real question was how they were going to get him into Wolfhame. Deep down Spencer knew he should leave Ryan with the boy and go and fetch Mr. Way and Mr. Iero; neither of them would refuse someone in such obvious distress, and the niceties could be sorted out later. On the other hand the house had been unsettled with the captain away; there had been more raised voices, slamming doors, and grumbling over cookpots than usual. The boy was tiny and would be easy enough to hide; they could reveal him when the house calmed down.
"Give me your cloak," Spencer said, peeling the boy out of his rags. "I'll tell them you're feeling poorly and stick him in the wagon. Then I'll create a distraction, and you can climb in when they aren't looking."
Ryan gave him a look that clearly suggested he didn't think much of that plan, but he didn't argue. Spencer wrapped the boy in the cloak, careful to tuck in trailing edges, and set off down the alley with Ryan trailing behind him, hugging the shadows.
Iero was waiting for them when they got to the wagon, and he was by himself. He jumped down when he saw Spencer and his burden, and Spencer moved quickly to get the bundle out of view in the hay that padded the floor of the wagon.
"Too much walking in the heat," Spencer explained. "And then we had some beer at the stall by the milliner-" he walked around the wagon toward the horses, trying to lead Iero away from the alley " - and it was a bit stronger than he expected. He'll - I say, does that lady over there have a model of the Coliseum in her hair?"
Iero's head swung to follow Spencer's pointing finger. Spencer risked a glance over Iero's shoulder just in time to see Ryan's feet disappearing into the space between barrels of salt-pork and casks of ginger ale.
Mr. Way arrived not ten minutes later, his face set and pinched and his hat jammed firmly on his head. He flicked his eyes quickly over the wagon and its contents, and Spencer focused on keeping his face neutral.
"Do we have a deserter?" he asked, his narrow brows drawing down into a frown.
"No, sir, of course not," Spencer said, fresh horror making him stumble over his words. "Mr. Ross is in the wagon, he had a bit too much sun - "
"And a bit of Miss Simpson's best brew," Iero chimed in, winking at Spencer. "Come, let us be away, Mr. Toro is making pigeon pie for supper, and he'll be cross if we are tardy."
Mr. Way cracked a small, fleeting smile, and Spencer felt the knot in his stomach loosen a little bit as he climbed into the wagon and took his place on top of one of the barrels.
**
The ride home was long and very bumpy, and the boy made a lot of soft, unhappy noises. Ryan curled the fingers of his good hand around the boys' palm and squeezed gently, trying to convey that it would get better soon. The boy squeezed back so gently that Ryan could barely feel it.
"Ahoy the ship," Iero bellowed as Mr. Way hauled the horses to a rattling halt.
There were a few silent moments followed by some muffled thumping of doors opening and closing. Ryan could also hear Iero tapping out a tune with his peg, but he couldn't recognize it.
"Dispatches, sir," Toro said, his voice oddly flat and formal. "Came by special messenger from Bath an hour ago."
Mr. Way said a few choice words that Ryan wouldn't have expected a gentleman to know (pirate, he reminded himself, amused even as he was shocked), and then Ryan heard more muffled thumping.
"Quickly, now, we can get upstairs while they're in the library," Spencer hissed, hauling the boy out and cradling him against his chest.
Ryan untangled himself as quickly as he could and followed Spencer through the rarely-used servants' passage and up the back stairs. Spencer's stories had not been totally false; he was feeling the effects of exercise in the sun, and of heavy faire food. Still, he kept a good pace; when he arrived in the bedroom Spencer was settling the boy on a stray dog pillow and sliding him under Ryan's bed.
Ryan was in the act of trading his clothes for a nightshirt when they heard Mr. Way's distinctive tread on the stairs. Spencer grabbed Ryan and dropped him on the bed. They stared at each other for a moment, wild-eyed and breathing hard, and then Ryan flopped backwards and pretended to be insensible. Spencer rested a hand on the ankle of Ryan's good leg, then tightened his grip and hauled Ryan around so that his head was on the pillow.
"He seems to be more or less intact," Mr. Way said when he came in, and then Ryan was aware of hands hovering over him, but not touching.
"Yes, sir," Spencer murmured. "Just needs a bit of a lie down, I reckon. I'll bring his supper up later."
"Very well," Mr. Way said; he sounded distracted. "Mr. Toro has the house for the evening, you may report to him for instructions when you are finished here. And you can light the fireplaces late this evening, as Mr. Iero, Mr. Walker and I have been called to the Mermaid Arms, and I don't expect to return until quite late."
"Very good, sir," Spencer said, and Ryan yanked his foot free with pretend irritation.
There was a long pause, and then Ryan heard Mr. Way's boots go thumping down the corridor towards his room. Part of him was wondering what errand called all of them out so urgently, but mostly he was relieved that his and Spencer's deception had passed undetected. Spencer squeezed his ankle once, and then Ryan heard the door to the room swish shut.
Ryan lay quiet for a moment, then wriggled around and nestled under the covers to wait for Spencer. He was almost asleep when Spencer returned with a tray full of food and water, and bottles of medicine and washcloths stuffed into his pockets.
Ryan wasn't especially hungry, but he took the small bowl of pie and cup of tea that Spencer handed to him, and ate slowly while Spencer went to work hauling the dog bed out. The tiny person didn't look any better by candle light.
Spencer peeled the boy out of the rest of his clothes, save for his breeches, then dipped the washcloth in the water and started cleaning him. He worked quietly and efficiently; Ryan could tell he had one ear on the stairs. Ryan, peering down from above, could see the boy was very young, probably not much older than they were themselves, and was doubly glad they had found him.
When he was finished he uncorked one of the medicine bottles. Ryan recognized it as an especially vile-tasting febrifuge, and was not surprised when the boy coughed and grimaced after taking it. Spencer patted the boy's shoulder in apology than picked the invalid feeder off the tray and gave the boy a couple of mouthfuls of soup and some water. When the boy wouldn't take any more, Spencer tugged the blanket off the end of the bed, tucked it around him then slid him back under the trailing skirts.
"I should go back downstairs," Spencer whispered. "I'll return as soon as I can."
Ryan nodded. "I'll mind him," he said, though it was ruined by a yawn. Spencer snorted in amusement. Ryan fell asleep in the act of making a rude gesture.
**
Meanwhile, under the bed, Brendon wasn't quite sure what had happened. The last thing he remembered was stumbling in the alley and the filthy cobbles coming up to meet him. Now he was was somewhere warm, in clothes he could tell were clean, laying on something soft (and kind of doggy-scented, but not unpleasantly so), his face and neck no longer itched and his constantly griping belly was silent and full.
He could hear someone else breathing, and the creaking of the house - he assumed it was a house - almost sounded like home. Brendon somehow felt that meant he would be safe, wherever he was, and whoever he was with. Surely the same people who would take him in, feed him, bathe him, and dose him with vile-tasting medicines would not then turn around and hurt him. He was still pondering the possibilities when sleep overtook him.
**
"Bitter for me, please, and stout for my friends," Mikey said, and slid a couple of coins across the polished surface of the bar.
He lowered himself on a barstool and surveyed the room. There were one or two faces he recognized, though he was reasonably certain they wouldn't recognize him all wrapped up in Toro's rattiest old cloak. What he did not see was any sign of Bob Bryar.
"To the right of the fire," Iero murmured, just as the barmen slid their drinks across the counter.
Mikey took two glasses without comment, and picked his way over to the round table in the corner where a hunched bearded figure was waiting for them.
"We're rumbled - Korse has the wind up him," Bryar said, without preamble, and took a swig from the mug in front of him.
Mikey took a deep breath and tried to focus. "He recognized the Captain?"
"Not yet," Bryar said, his mouth curving into a faint smile. "But his First Mate - the ugly one with the dark hair - has been sniffing around these last few days. Was a bit more matey than he should have been. Invited himself to tea with me yesterday, then made a sly comment about Gibraltar - "
Mikey swore softly under his breath, and Bryar made a face in agreement. Iero and Walker were silent, but Mikey could feel them thrumming with anxious excitement.
"The captain has ordered me to London, and meanwhile we've put it about that I've been called away by urgent family business," Bryar continued. "And that Miss Ivarsson has written to her old friend Mr. Walker to see if he could be prevailed upon to escort two ladies to a few country balls."
"To London?" Mikey asked and Iero echoed, while Walker spluttered into his beer.
"He has dispatched me to seek greater detail of Korse's operations based on new intelligences received from Captain Beckett," Bryar said, his tone brooking no further inquiry.
Meanwhile, Walker had recovered himself. "Have I - has Mr. Walker made a reply?"
"He's organizing his affairs and expects to be on the morning train two days hence," Bryar said.
"And the Cobras?" Mikey asked, taking a mouthful of his drink.
"Negotiations are ongoing," Bryar said. "Korse is as tough a customer as ever. Though we judge Mr. Ripley has played it out as long as he can, and they should come to an agreement soon."
Mikey made a thoughtful noise and consumed the rest of his drink in silence, while the men peppered Bryar with questions, mainly regarding the young ladies of Bath.
**
"Hey," Spencer whispered, as he tugged the dog bed out. "Wake up, I only have a moment."
The boy blinked at him and frowned, clearly disoriented. Spencer sighed. Toro and Iero were busy in the root cellar for the moment, but there wasn't much time.
"I'm Spencer Smith," he said. "Ryan Ross is sleeping above you just now. You're at Wolfhame -" he paused, but the boy didn't seem perturbed, which was strange; he must have traveled quite far "-and you're safe now."
"Brendon Urie," the boy replied, sticking out his hand. Spencer shook it perfunctorily, noting the lack of heavy calluses as he did so; wherever he was from, Urie was not accustomed to rough labor.
"Whatever you do, stay out of sight," Spencer said, and pulled a napkin full of food out of his pocket.
"I thought you said it was safe," Urie said, rolling on to one elbow to take the food.
"It is," Spencer muttered. "I just - we need - just be quiet for a little while longer. The man with the peg-leg is Mr. Iero, he works in the kitchen, normally, and if you see hear someone singing that's Mr. Way, he's - he's not the Master, but he's close enough. There's also Mr. Toro but he hardly ever ventures upstairs."
Urie settled back against the pillow, his frown deepening. Spencer could tell he was poised to ask more questions, and waved him to silence.
"The Captain is home tomorrow," Spencer offered as an explanation. "We'll sort it out as soon as we can, all right?"
Urie nodded, and Spencer shoved him back under the bed, then ran back downstairs to help Iero peel carrots for supper.
**
"Three o'clock," Walker said as he leaned forward to hand Gerard a cup of lemonade. "Next to Devonshire, bearing to starboard."
Gerard hummed an acknowledgement. Walker drifted away, drawn into conversation with a circle of young men, and Gerard pretended to be deeply absorbed by the dancers for the next two figures, while trying to keep an eye on his target. Then Korse obliged him by selecting a delicate lady from the crowd and leading her into the set. He was as rigid at dancing as he was at everything else; Gerard winced in sympathy for his partner, who was clearly struggling to appreciate his attentions.
When the dance wound to a close the floor cleared, and Gerard lost Korse in the milling crowd. The music started up again a few moments later. Gerard saw Walker step in to rescue Miss Ivarsson from an especially red-faced burgher, and as soon as it was expedient Gerard gathered up his gloves and slipped away, wriggling through the crowd until he found the exit to the garden.
He had just secured a spot inside the entrance to the hedge maze, lit a cheroot and settled down to consider how he was hoing to sneak a large volume of sailors past Korse's footmen when he was abruptly overtaken by a pair of young ladies.
"Hello - oh, goodness, I beg your pardon," the taller of the two said.
She had dark hair piled on top of her head and was wearing a rich purple silk that glimmered in the moonlight. The shorter girl was topped with fair ringlets; her dress might have been brown, but Gerard wasn't certain. He was more concerned with the way she was swaying.
"No, it is I who must beg your pardon," he said, being careful to keep his voice throaty. "My apologies, Miss -?"
"Ballato," the tall girl said, her mouth relaxing into a smile. "Lindsey Ballato. And this sozzled creature with me is Chantal de Micturia."
"Geraldine Way," Gerard said, and tried a smile. Something about Miss Ballato's face was very familiar, but he couldn't quite place it.
"You," Miss de Micturia said, narrowing her eyes, "are a pirate. An infamous one. Cracking good cannon in that one play, though."
Gerard froze, his limbs paralyzed by terror. She was probably not the first to make the association, but she was the only one to express it so directly, and with such certainty.
"Chantal!" Miss Ballato hissed, flushing prettily. "Miss Way is not a pirate, that that is Gerard Way, her - ?"
"Cousin," Gerard supplied, suddenly exhausted by the strain of the deception, and overwhelmed by the desire to remove his stays. "The black sheep of the family. He and his brother are a trial to us all."
"Families can be so difficult," Miss Ballato murmured, catching at Miss de Micturia's arm to steady her. "Come, Chantal, we should leave Miss Way and sit down until you are steadier."
"But why - oh, did we interrupt an assignation?" Miss de Micturia asked, her eyes widening in mock dismay. "Are you waiting for a gentleman?"
Gerard turned nervous laughter into a cough. "No, not at all, I just - I find the ballroom to be quite stuffy and close. I came out for some air."
Which was true, on both counts. He did not mention that he had also escaped because if he had to spend one more minute looking at Korse's ugly face he might be tempted to retrieve the pistol he had concealed in his bodice and shoot out the man's other eye.
"And full of arseholes," Miss de Micturia pronounced, as Miss Ballato steered her to a nearby bench, and settled her on it. "Stuffy, stuffy arseholes, who cannot dance. All things considered I prefer the stews."
"You must forgive her, she is a bit overexcited by the occasion," Miss Ballato said. "We are not often in such elevated company."
"Yes we are," Miss de Micturia said. "It's just that they're normally a bit further away. On the other side of the footlights."
"You are actresses?" Gerard asked, a little surprised, though that would explain why Miss Ballato seemed so familiar.
"Yes," Miss Ballato said, straightening her shoulders and raising her chin, as if expecting a cutting remark. "In London."
Gerard smiled at her, forgetting for a moment that he was supposed to disapprove, and probably to stomp off in a horrified huff. At that Miss Ballato relaxed a fraction, and returned his grin.
"You must tell me about it," Gerard said. "I am often at the theater, but, as you say, in the stalls. I'm sure it is more exciting in the wings."
"Surely your infamous cousin must have told a tale or two," Miss de Micturia said, but Miss Ballato ignored her.
"Oh, well, I suppose," Miss Ballato said, fussing absently with her hair. "All of the running about can be a bit tedious, sometimes, but mostly I don't mind."
"She'll drop in her traces, she will," Miss de Micturia chimed in. "March right through from Ophelia to the Lady before she kicks off."
"Do you have a favorite role?" Gerard asked, pretending to ignore Miss Ballato's outraged glare at her friend.
Miss Ballato went pink, and Gerard wondered, belatedly, if that was an inopportune question for one lady to ask another.
"She's quite fond of your Pirate Queen," Miss de Micturia explained. "It's all the swordfighting, y'see, and she gets to wear scandalous outfits while the rest of us run about shrieking."
Gerard's mouth dropped open, not from horror but the shock of memory clicking into place. Hang 'em High had only enjoyed a brief run in London, but the opening night had been a stunning success, thanks in large part to Miss Ballato.
"Right," Miss Ballato muttered, standing up and shaking out her skirts. "I think it's time we went back inside and left Miss Way to -" she paused, her attention caught by something or someone near the door "- oh bloody hell."
Gerard turned to see what had produced such a profane outburst, but before he could get a good look she had taken him by the hand and was tugging him deeper into the hedge maze, and hauling Miss de Micturia along behind them. Gerard stumbled after her, too stunned to protest.
"It's Captain Leto again," she hissed, wedging them into a handy curve of the maze. "I've been dodging him all night, and he is most persistent."
Gerard frowned, something like protective irritation blooming in his chest. "I'll have a word with him, if you like," he said, realizing too late that Miss Way would have no sway with the man, and also that he had used his normal voice.
Miss de Micturia, half in the hedge, made a small noise of triumph. Miss Ballato, too, did not seem distressed; in fact he she was chortling with delight.
"Don't worry, your secret is safe with us," Miss de Micturia said, and belched softly.
"It truly is," Miss Ballato said, recovering herself. "Though I'm perishing to know what prank you are pulling."
"It isn't a prank," Gerard said, somewhat stiffly. "I'm - investigating reports of malfeasance. We had intelligence that Mr. Korse's pet project Better Living Industries is a sham for cruelty, and we aim to put a stop to it."
"Killjoy," Miss de Micturia said, though without any real heat. "Also, you'd better find a finer costume than that one to do it in."
Gerard gathered himself to protest, but before he could speak, Miss Ballato reached out, took his hand and squeezed it gently.
"Forgive us, Captain," she murmured. "In truth we - I - have heard stories. We are here to investigate the man ourselves, as there is a rumor he is keen to expand his operations to London."
"So I have heard - and he is a vile blackguard," Gerard said, injured dignity forgotten. "You would do well to avoid his company."
"You know him?" Miss de Micturia asked, sounded significantly more sober than she had a few moments prior.
"I have been in his brig," Gerard said, as Miss Ballato's hand slipped away.
The loss of her warmth made the night air seem that much chillier. Between that, their penetration of his disguise, and his sudden awareness of the lateness of the hour, he was abruptly keen to get away.
"I see," Miss Ballato whispered. "The coast must be clear by now - we should go inside. Good luck to you, sir."
Gerard murmured his thanks and followed them out of the maze. They disappeared in a flurry of skirts as soon as they saw the lights of the house. Gerard was grateful to find only Mr. Walker standing on the back steps and peering into the gloom.
**
"All right," Gerard said, once Mikey had closed the door to the study and all of the men had found a place to sit. "Mr. Walker and I got a very good look, and it is definitely Mr. Korse we are pursuing."
"And how is the old man? Keeping poorly, I hope?" Iero asked.
"As well as ever, unfortunately. And well guarded, of course," Gerard said, sitting down on the edge of his desk and accepting a cup of tea from Mikey. "He has retained a large company of sharp-eyed sailors and dressed them as footmen."
"They cannot be his shipmates, can they?" Toro asked, incredulous, from his favorite chair by the window.
"I did see one or two familiar faces," Gerard conceded. "Including his first mate. Though while I did not know the others personally, most bore Neptune's mark upon their person."
Iero made an extremely rude remark under his breath and took a deep drink of his tea.
"He is organized and ambitious," Gerard continued, rising to pace awkwardly in the small space. "I am informed he plans to move to London immediately following the masquerade, so we must act quickly. Miss Ivarsson is still working on extracting an invitation, but if necessary we will go without one."
"All of us?" Toro asked, his voice carefully neutral.
"All of us," Gerard confirmed. "Save for the cabin boys, who will stay behind to mind the house. Miss Ivarsson informs me she will also attend, and Captain Saporta has offered the Cobras. Even Captain Beckett may be prevailed upon to bring the Barringtons if need be - "
"Any news of the captured Cobras?" Mikey interrupted, setting his cup and saucer down on the table.
"They were paroled the day before we left," Gerard said. "Saporta reported that they were returned to him in a terrible state, as if they had been guests of the Dey, but that they seem to be recovering well. He expects for them to be fit for duty shortly."
There was a brief pause while they all drank more tea.
"Captain Saporta and Miss Asher will go in first, and be announced - she has several titles, they will borrow one he is unlikely to recognize," Gerard continued. "Miss Way and Mr. Ghoul will follow them. The rest of you will come in quietly, through other channels. And when Korse addresses the gathering, we will show our true selves, and reveal his nefarious activities in a dramatic fashion."
He watched them think about that for a moment. Iero seemed intent on his tea, but Gerard knew that to be a front for deeper contemplation; Mikey and Toro were wary, but, he could see, still willing.
"Miss Ivarsson has gathered several stories from those who have recently escaped his clutches, which I shall fashion into scenes," Gerard continued. "I will share out your parts tomorrow, as we must start rehearsing right away. Mr. Iero, how are the costumes coming along?"
"Very well, sir, just need a stitch or two more here and there," Iero said. "Mr. Ross has been most helpful in that department."
Gerard made a pleased noise, and straightened up. "You are dismissed, gentlemen."
He waited until they had all murmured their farewells and shuffled out before he sat down at his desk. Miss Ivarsson's notes were written in a particularly dense, spikey hand, and he lost a significant chunk of the afternoon to deciphering them.
He was working on the last one when Iero came in with his afternoon tea. He took his time setting it up, making several trips back and forth across the study that struck Gerard as unnecessary. Gerard usually found the steady swish-thump of Iero's gait a comfort, but - he could not say why - at that moment it was nagging at him like an out-of-tune harp in an orchestra.
Gerard took the cup of tea offered to him, then, under the guise of struggling over a bit of dialogue, proceeded to watch Iero make a wholly unnecessary fuss over the angle of his tea sandwiches. Finally he couldn't take it any longer.
"Spill it out, Mr. Iero," he commanded, putting his pen down. "Are the cannon balls rolling over the deck?"
"No, sir, nothing like that," Iero said quickly, shifting uneasily on his peg. "It's just - I'm not one to peach on a shipmate, sir, but -" he paused for a deep breath "- but since you asked me directly, we have a stowaway."
"We - where is - he? She? Is it a man or a woman, Iero?" Gerard asked, all thoughts of the scene forgotten.
"We're not sure, sir, but we think they might be hidden in the cabin boys' quarters," Iero said, his face relaxing a fraction. "Smith was uncommon jumpy these last few days, and Ross has been playing the invalid but yet eating like he's on shore leave after a six months' cruise."
Gerard opened his mouth, then closed it again. "I will investigate immediately, Mr. Iero."
"Sir," Iero said, his tone and expression softening. "I'm sure they mean well - "
"Yes," Gerard said, pressing hair fingers against the lower ridges of his eyes. "I am sure there is some logical explanation for it. It is all right, Mr. Iero, you do yourself no dishonor, and I promise no harm shall come to them."
"Thank you, sir," Iero murmured, and showed himself out.
Gerard stood up and shook his cuffs out, then made his way upstairs. As he passed the through the parlour he heard someone in the kitchen, possibly Mr. Smith, singing Blood Red Roses in what was almost the right key. Gerard paused, tilting his head to one side, and listened, and yes, there was Mr. Ross making sly commentary about his friends' abilities, and Mikey laughing at Smith's doubtless aggrieved expression. The coast was clear.
Still, he took the steps two at a time, and hastily composed an excuse involving an urgently needed book, should either of them return, or should he have misidentified the singer. He opened the door slowly at first, and then more quickly when he confirmed the room was empty. With one quick glance over his shoulder, Gerard crossed to the bed, then crouched down and flipped the bedskirt up in one movement. He was only a little bit surprised to actually find a person there - a young man, and sleeping from what he could see in the gloom - and once he had determined the man had no obvious injuries, he dropped the bedskirt and straightened up.
"Right," he muttered to himself, then went to find his brother.
PART IV
**
"Avast, knave," Iero pronounced, standing on the settee, holding his cape out dramatically with one hand and holding an invisible sword with the other. "Unhand that cake."
"'Tis fair-won," Walker said, from next to Ryan. "I did battle with two drains and was granted it as a boon from the kitchen-king."
Iero, wobbled briefly then hopped down to firmer ground and swished the cloak around dramatically. Walker set the cake down on a nearby table and stood up, shaking out his clothes, then raised a hand, in which he grasped an invisible sword of his own.
"Lay on," Spencer called out, from the other side of the couch, and they danced through a brief battle.
Ryan shifted uneasily - he still wasn't quite accustomed to the sailors' playful aggression - and adjusted his moat of overflowing baskets of mending. He had been truly astounded at the number of torn handkerchiefs, ripped shirts, distressed trousers and other casualties of Iero's peg leg and the Ways' general inattention to the safety of their clothing he had found while accompanying Spencer on his evening rounds.
"Arm," Spencer called out, and Iero tucked his non-sword hand behind his back.
Ryan snagged a particularly abused shirt from one of his piles and put fresh thread in his needle. He was intent on reattaching a ruffle when the noise from mock-battle abruptly died away. Alarmed by the silence Ryan raised his head and found Mr. Way standing in the doorway wearing an almost apologetic expression. Iero and Walker were frozen at attention, and even Spencer had stood up.
"Be at ease," Mr. Way said, and the other three relaxed a fraction. "Mr. Ross, might I borrow Belle from you for an hour?"
Belle, who of course had her own ideas on the subject, had not bothered to wait for Ryan's stammered agreement, and was already lumbering to her feet. Ryan patted her flank as she shimmed out from under his legs. He did not permit himself to contemplate the possibility that Mr. Way might take her permanently, though of course he had full right to do so.
The silence lingered even after the door had closed. Finally Iero extracted himself from the cloak and flopped down on the settee.
"Surprised to see Himself out and about, he's been holed up in the gov'nor's study all day," Iero muttered. "Toro couldn't even coax him out with a jam tart."
Ryan curled in on himself a little further. Mr. Way had been holed up in his brother's study for several days, not just one, though Spencer reported he was eating everything Toro sent up for him. Since being liberated from his sickbed, Ryan himself had only caught the briefest of glimpses of the man. So far the encounters had all occurred when Ryan was struggling with some sort of simple task, or trailing behind Spencer, clutching pieces of laundry with one hand and Belle's soft nape with the other.
"I should look in on the horses," Walker said, standing up. "Good night, gentlemen."
Ryan joined in the general murmur and tried to refocus on the ruffle, but it was no use, he couldn't concentrate without Belle's silky muzzle resting on his foot. He set the shirt aside and occupied himself with folding handkerchiefs. After a moment, Iero picked up his knitting and started in on a story about Tortuga, which distracted everyone else so that they didn't notice Ryan's level of fretful inactivity.
He was on the verge of getting up to escape to his room - or trying anyway, he couldn't get far without Belle to lean on - when the door opened again and Belle loped in wearing a most unusual apparatus. When she leaned against his knees to demand ear-scritchies Ryan found it was a harness, made of smooth supple black leather and finished with silver. There was a cane-head-shaped hook nestled between her broad shoulders, and on each side there were saddlebags large enough to accommodate buttons, small items of clothing, and, if Syclla's tiny face peeping out at him was any measure, the occasional terrier.
"Come, try it out," Way said, and Ryan hurried to obey.
He moved with such haste that he almost fell, and Spencer had to grab him about the waist to steady him. Belle whuffled and nudged him with her head. Ryan curled forward to hug her, laughing a little as she licked his face. Then, conscious of Way's gaze, he curled his crippled hand around the cane-head and stepped carefully over his baskets.
Belle whuffled and shook herself, but came easily enough when Ryan guided her towards the door. Way stepped aside to let them pass, though not before Ryan saw that he was fighting to suppress a grin. Ryan tightened his grip on the harness and led Belle on a slow circuit between the door of the sewing room and his bedroom and back again.
"Thank you, sir," Ryan said, as soon as Way was in earshot.
"It was my pleasure, Mr. Ross," Way said, his grin breaking free. "I wish you the joy of it. Good night, gentlemen."
He executed an awkward half bow and strode off towards his room. The others burst into excited chatter as soon as his door was closed, Iero exclaiming loudly on finding his dog lurking in one of the panniers. Ryan sat down on the floor, still too overwhelmed to make any serious contribution to the conversation.
After a moment, though, the others remembered their manners, and the lateness of the hour. Iero extracted his dog and departed, humming under his breath for the first time in days, while Spencer gathered Ryan off the floor and helped him back to their room.
That night, Ryan fell asleep easily, nestled under Spencer's arm, with the harness clutched to his chest.
**
The kitchen was very quiet with Bryar away with the Captain, and meals especially so. Spencer could hardly admit it to anyone, but he missed Bryar reading the headlines aloud to in a satirical manner over breakfast, and trading ribald stories with Iero over dinner. It was also quiet by necessity, since Mr. Way had started joining them for meals. Toro and Iero seemed unphased, but it made Spencer nervous. Ryan was reduced to picking awkwardly at his food, and Spencer had taken to carrying spare rolls and bits of fruit in his pockets for when Ryan grew hungry.
"Mr. Smith," Mr. Way said, as Spencer was reaching for the marmalade. "There's a faire on in town today. Mr. Iero and I will be going up with the wagon, and I would be pleased if you and Mr. Ross would come along."
"A faire?" Spencer repeated, and winced at his idiotic tone.
"Aye, a proper faire, with stalls full of shiny trinkets," Iero said, sitting down at the table and snagging a piece of ham. "Also pasties. I heard a rumor there's to be a dunking booth. I'm going to sink the vicar if it's the last thing I do."
Spencer gave Ryan an inquiring glance. Ryan met his gaze with wide-eyed alarm, but still nodded his assent.
"Smashing," Way murmured, reaching for the tall pile of letters on the silver salver near his plate. "We'll depart in an hour. Mr. Smith, you'll help Mr. Iero bring the carriage around when you're finished here."
"Yes sir," Spencer said, and applied himself to his breakfast.
As usual he kept an eye on Mr. Way as he read his post. That day's pile was quite large, and his expression darkened noticeably as he made his way through it. A couple of times he hissed through his teeth; once he mumbled a string of very rude words.
"Any word from the captain?" Toro asked, as Iero dumped sugar into his tea.
"Yes," Mr. Way said absently. "He reports that he has been to several festive gatherings and found them tedious; the mamas of Bath are as relentless as ever in pursuit of husbands for their darlings, and the gentlemen zealous in their search for wives; that he is disraught at the level to which he has blackened my name around town, and so far with nothing to show for it; and that both Mr. Conrad and Mr. Bryar send their affectionate greetings and wish to be remembered to everyone in the pub."
Iero made a wry noise into his tea, then drained his mug and stood up. "Come on, Smith, the horses aren't going to bridle themselves."
Spencer cleared his and Ryan's dishes quickly, then followed Iero out to the barn. He was moving a touch slower than usual, and favoring his peg. Spencer clamped down on the fresh wave of worry that washed over him and focused on the complicated business of getting the horses out of their stalls.
The faire, when they got there, was thronged with people. Spencer was surprised when Mr. Way gave each of them a handful of coins and waved them off with a command to enjoy themselves, and to meet himself and Mr. Iero outside the pub in two hours time, but he didn't argue.
"Set us a course, Mr. Ross," Spencer said, grunting with both pain and laughter when Ryan stuck a pointy elbow into his ribs.
In truth Spencer was a bit flummoxed. It had been years since he'd been at a faire (and not chained, part of his brain filled in, but Spencer dodged away from those memories), much less with money to spend. Ryan seemed equally confused, which did make him feel a bit better.
"We'll just go around the green," Spencer decided, shifting his feet as Ryan tightened his grip on his arm. "Perhaps there will be an especially fine prize pig."
Ryan made a low, amused noise, and Spencer took off towards the nearest pasty-stall at a sedate pace. Once fortified, they struck out to explore the various delights on offer. They paused to rest on several occasions, sitting variously on the ledge of the well and the grass, and once on a low wall, to watch several small boys fail to dunk the vicar. Ryan grew increasingly agitated as the day wore on, and Spencer regretted that Mr. Way had decreed Belle had to be left at home for reasons of space in the carriage, as she always had a calming effect on him.
They were on their way to the meeting point, full of pasties and sugary treats and clutching bags of trifles, when a group of whooping children almost knocked Ryan over. Spencer steadied him easily, then diverted them to a back alley, where it was quiet and Ryan could hobble along at his own pace.
They were so busy rehashing the events of the day they didn't notice the bundle of rags in the path until Ryan fell over it. He was more startled than hurt; the only reason they noticed anything amiss was because Ryan paused to wipe his hands off, and the bundle of rags sprouted a bare, dirty foot. Ryan jumped back and almost fell down again, but Spencer caught him.
Then Spencer knelt down and investigated the bundle. He peeled back a layer or two and found a person, a tiny, brown-haired person, who was glassy-eyed with fever, filthy, and too-thin. He felt Ryan lean on his shoulders, peering down at the person from above, and held very still. The tiny person didn't have any identification that Spencer could see.
Spencer put a hand down for balance, then looked over his shoulder at Ryan.
"We can't leave him here," Ryan whispered, tightening his grip on Spencer's shoulder.
Spencer hummed his agreement, and sighed heavily. The real question was how they were going to get him into Wolfhame. Deep down Spencer knew he should leave Ryan with the boy and go and fetch Mr. Way and Mr. Iero; neither of them would refuse someone in such obvious distress, and the niceties could be sorted out later. On the other hand the house had been unsettled with the captain away; there had been more raised voices, slamming doors, and grumbling over cookpots than usual. The boy was tiny and would be easy enough to hide; they could reveal him when the house calmed down.
"Give me your cloak," Spencer said, peeling the boy out of his rags. "I'll tell them you're feeling poorly and stick him in the wagon. Then I'll create a distraction, and you can climb in when they aren't looking."
Ryan gave him a look that clearly suggested he didn't think much of that plan, but he didn't argue. Spencer wrapped the boy in the cloak, careful to tuck in trailing edges, and set off down the alley with Ryan trailing behind him, hugging the shadows.
Iero was waiting for them when they got to the wagon, and he was by himself. He jumped down when he saw Spencer and his burden, and Spencer moved quickly to get the bundle out of view in the hay that padded the floor of the wagon.
"Too much walking in the heat," Spencer explained. "And then we had some beer at the stall by the milliner-" he walked around the wagon toward the horses, trying to lead Iero away from the alley " - and it was a bit stronger than he expected. He'll - I say, does that lady over there have a model of the Coliseum in her hair?"
Iero's head swung to follow Spencer's pointing finger. Spencer risked a glance over Iero's shoulder just in time to see Ryan's feet disappearing into the space between barrels of salt-pork and casks of ginger ale.
Mr. Way arrived not ten minutes later, his face set and pinched and his hat jammed firmly on his head. He flicked his eyes quickly over the wagon and its contents, and Spencer focused on keeping his face neutral.
"Do we have a deserter?" he asked, his narrow brows drawing down into a frown.
"No, sir, of course not," Spencer said, fresh horror making him stumble over his words. "Mr. Ross is in the wagon, he had a bit too much sun - "
"And a bit of Miss Simpson's best brew," Iero chimed in, winking at Spencer. "Come, let us be away, Mr. Toro is making pigeon pie for supper, and he'll be cross if we are tardy."
Mr. Way cracked a small, fleeting smile, and Spencer felt the knot in his stomach loosen a little bit as he climbed into the wagon and took his place on top of one of the barrels.
**
The ride home was long and very bumpy, and the boy made a lot of soft, unhappy noises. Ryan curled the fingers of his good hand around the boys' palm and squeezed gently, trying to convey that it would get better soon. The boy squeezed back so gently that Ryan could barely feel it.
"Ahoy the ship," Iero bellowed as Mr. Way hauled the horses to a rattling halt.
There were a few silent moments followed by some muffled thumping of doors opening and closing. Ryan could also hear Iero tapping out a tune with his peg, but he couldn't recognize it.
"Dispatches, sir," Toro said, his voice oddly flat and formal. "Came by special messenger from Bath an hour ago."
Mr. Way said a few choice words that Ryan wouldn't have expected a gentleman to know (pirate, he reminded himself, amused even as he was shocked), and then Ryan heard more muffled thumping.
"Quickly, now, we can get upstairs while they're in the library," Spencer hissed, hauling the boy out and cradling him against his chest.
Ryan untangled himself as quickly as he could and followed Spencer through the rarely-used servants' passage and up the back stairs. Spencer's stories had not been totally false; he was feeling the effects of exercise in the sun, and of heavy faire food. Still, he kept a good pace; when he arrived in the bedroom Spencer was settling the boy on a stray dog pillow and sliding him under Ryan's bed.
Ryan was in the act of trading his clothes for a nightshirt when they heard Mr. Way's distinctive tread on the stairs. Spencer grabbed Ryan and dropped him on the bed. They stared at each other for a moment, wild-eyed and breathing hard, and then Ryan flopped backwards and pretended to be insensible. Spencer rested a hand on the ankle of Ryan's good leg, then tightened his grip and hauled Ryan around so that his head was on the pillow.
"He seems to be more or less intact," Mr. Way said when he came in, and then Ryan was aware of hands hovering over him, but not touching.
"Yes, sir," Spencer murmured. "Just needs a bit of a lie down, I reckon. I'll bring his supper up later."
"Very well," Mr. Way said; he sounded distracted. "Mr. Toro has the house for the evening, you may report to him for instructions when you are finished here. And you can light the fireplaces late this evening, as Mr. Iero, Mr. Walker and I have been called to the Mermaid Arms, and I don't expect to return until quite late."
"Very good, sir," Spencer said, and Ryan yanked his foot free with pretend irritation.
There was a long pause, and then Ryan heard Mr. Way's boots go thumping down the corridor towards his room. Part of him was wondering what errand called all of them out so urgently, but mostly he was relieved that his and Spencer's deception had passed undetected. Spencer squeezed his ankle once, and then Ryan heard the door to the room swish shut.
Ryan lay quiet for a moment, then wriggled around and nestled under the covers to wait for Spencer. He was almost asleep when Spencer returned with a tray full of food and water, and bottles of medicine and washcloths stuffed into his pockets.
Ryan wasn't especially hungry, but he took the small bowl of pie and cup of tea that Spencer handed to him, and ate slowly while Spencer went to work hauling the dog bed out. The tiny person didn't look any better by candle light.
Spencer peeled the boy out of the rest of his clothes, save for his breeches, then dipped the washcloth in the water and started cleaning him. He worked quietly and efficiently; Ryan could tell he had one ear on the stairs. Ryan, peering down from above, could see the boy was very young, probably not much older than they were themselves, and was doubly glad they had found him.
When he was finished he uncorked one of the medicine bottles. Ryan recognized it as an especially vile-tasting febrifuge, and was not surprised when the boy coughed and grimaced after taking it. Spencer patted the boy's shoulder in apology than picked the invalid feeder off the tray and gave the boy a couple of mouthfuls of soup and some water. When the boy wouldn't take any more, Spencer tugged the blanket off the end of the bed, tucked it around him then slid him back under the trailing skirts.
"I should go back downstairs," Spencer whispered. "I'll return as soon as I can."
Ryan nodded. "I'll mind him," he said, though it was ruined by a yawn. Spencer snorted in amusement. Ryan fell asleep in the act of making a rude gesture.
**
Meanwhile, under the bed, Brendon wasn't quite sure what had happened. The last thing he remembered was stumbling in the alley and the filthy cobbles coming up to meet him. Now he was was somewhere warm, in clothes he could tell were clean, laying on something soft (and kind of doggy-scented, but not unpleasantly so), his face and neck no longer itched and his constantly griping belly was silent and full.
He could hear someone else breathing, and the creaking of the house - he assumed it was a house - almost sounded like home. Brendon somehow felt that meant he would be safe, wherever he was, and whoever he was with. Surely the same people who would take him in, feed him, bathe him, and dose him with vile-tasting medicines would not then turn around and hurt him. He was still pondering the possibilities when sleep overtook him.
**
"Bitter for me, please, and stout for my friends," Mikey said, and slid a couple of coins across the polished surface of the bar.
He lowered himself on a barstool and surveyed the room. There were one or two faces he recognized, though he was reasonably certain they wouldn't recognize him all wrapped up in Toro's rattiest old cloak. What he did not see was any sign of Bob Bryar.
"To the right of the fire," Iero murmured, just as the barmen slid their drinks across the counter.
Mikey took two glasses without comment, and picked his way over to the round table in the corner where a hunched bearded figure was waiting for them.
"We're rumbled - Korse has the wind up him," Bryar said, without preamble, and took a swig from the mug in front of him.
Mikey took a deep breath and tried to focus. "He recognized the Captain?"
"Not yet," Bryar said, his mouth curving into a faint smile. "But his First Mate - the ugly one with the dark hair - has been sniffing around these last few days. Was a bit more matey than he should have been. Invited himself to tea with me yesterday, then made a sly comment about Gibraltar - "
Mikey swore softly under his breath, and Bryar made a face in agreement. Iero and Walker were silent, but Mikey could feel them thrumming with anxious excitement.
"The captain has ordered me to London, and meanwhile we've put it about that I've been called away by urgent family business," Bryar continued. "And that Miss Ivarsson has written to her old friend Mr. Walker to see if he could be prevailed upon to escort two ladies to a few country balls."
"To London?" Mikey asked and Iero echoed, while Walker spluttered into his beer.
"He has dispatched me to seek greater detail of Korse's operations based on new intelligences received from Captain Beckett," Bryar said, his tone brooking no further inquiry.
Meanwhile, Walker had recovered himself. "Have I - has Mr. Walker made a reply?"
"He's organizing his affairs and expects to be on the morning train two days hence," Bryar said.
"And the Cobras?" Mikey asked, taking a mouthful of his drink.
"Negotiations are ongoing," Bryar said. "Korse is as tough a customer as ever. Though we judge Mr. Ripley has played it out as long as he can, and they should come to an agreement soon."
Mikey made a thoughtful noise and consumed the rest of his drink in silence, while the men peppered Bryar with questions, mainly regarding the young ladies of Bath.
**
"Hey," Spencer whispered, as he tugged the dog bed out. "Wake up, I only have a moment."
The boy blinked at him and frowned, clearly disoriented. Spencer sighed. Toro and Iero were busy in the root cellar for the moment, but there wasn't much time.
"I'm Spencer Smith," he said. "Ryan Ross is sleeping above you just now. You're at Wolfhame -" he paused, but the boy didn't seem perturbed, which was strange; he must have traveled quite far "-and you're safe now."
"Brendon Urie," the boy replied, sticking out his hand. Spencer shook it perfunctorily, noting the lack of heavy calluses as he did so; wherever he was from, Urie was not accustomed to rough labor.
"Whatever you do, stay out of sight," Spencer said, and pulled a napkin full of food out of his pocket.
"I thought you said it was safe," Urie said, rolling on to one elbow to take the food.
"It is," Spencer muttered. "I just - we need - just be quiet for a little while longer. The man with the peg-leg is Mr. Iero, he works in the kitchen, normally, and if you see hear someone singing that's Mr. Way, he's - he's not the Master, but he's close enough. There's also Mr. Toro but he hardly ever ventures upstairs."
Urie settled back against the pillow, his frown deepening. Spencer could tell he was poised to ask more questions, and waved him to silence.
"The Captain is home tomorrow," Spencer offered as an explanation. "We'll sort it out as soon as we can, all right?"
Urie nodded, and Spencer shoved him back under the bed, then ran back downstairs to help Iero peel carrots for supper.
**
"Three o'clock," Walker said as he leaned forward to hand Gerard a cup of lemonade. "Next to Devonshire, bearing to starboard."
Gerard hummed an acknowledgement. Walker drifted away, drawn into conversation with a circle of young men, and Gerard pretended to be deeply absorbed by the dancers for the next two figures, while trying to keep an eye on his target. Then Korse obliged him by selecting a delicate lady from the crowd and leading her into the set. He was as rigid at dancing as he was at everything else; Gerard winced in sympathy for his partner, who was clearly struggling to appreciate his attentions.
When the dance wound to a close the floor cleared, and Gerard lost Korse in the milling crowd. The music started up again a few moments later. Gerard saw Walker step in to rescue Miss Ivarsson from an especially red-faced burgher, and as soon as it was expedient Gerard gathered up his gloves and slipped away, wriggling through the crowd until he found the exit to the garden.
He had just secured a spot inside the entrance to the hedge maze, lit a cheroot and settled down to consider how he was hoing to sneak a large volume of sailors past Korse's footmen when he was abruptly overtaken by a pair of young ladies.
"Hello - oh, goodness, I beg your pardon," the taller of the two said.
She had dark hair piled on top of her head and was wearing a rich purple silk that glimmered in the moonlight. The shorter girl was topped with fair ringlets; her dress might have been brown, but Gerard wasn't certain. He was more concerned with the way she was swaying.
"No, it is I who must beg your pardon," he said, being careful to keep his voice throaty. "My apologies, Miss -?"
"Ballato," the tall girl said, her mouth relaxing into a smile. "Lindsey Ballato. And this sozzled creature with me is Chantal de Micturia."
"Geraldine Way," Gerard said, and tried a smile. Something about Miss Ballato's face was very familiar, but he couldn't quite place it.
"You," Miss de Micturia said, narrowing her eyes, "are a pirate. An infamous one. Cracking good cannon in that one play, though."
Gerard froze, his limbs paralyzed by terror. She was probably not the first to make the association, but she was the only one to express it so directly, and with such certainty.
"Chantal!" Miss Ballato hissed, flushing prettily. "Miss Way is not a pirate, that that is Gerard Way, her - ?"
"Cousin," Gerard supplied, suddenly exhausted by the strain of the deception, and overwhelmed by the desire to remove his stays. "The black sheep of the family. He and his brother are a trial to us all."
"Families can be so difficult," Miss Ballato murmured, catching at Miss de Micturia's arm to steady her. "Come, Chantal, we should leave Miss Way and sit down until you are steadier."
"But why - oh, did we interrupt an assignation?" Miss de Micturia asked, her eyes widening in mock dismay. "Are you waiting for a gentleman?"
Gerard turned nervous laughter into a cough. "No, not at all, I just - I find the ballroom to be quite stuffy and close. I came out for some air."
Which was true, on both counts. He did not mention that he had also escaped because if he had to spend one more minute looking at Korse's ugly face he might be tempted to retrieve the pistol he had concealed in his bodice and shoot out the man's other eye.
"And full of arseholes," Miss de Micturia pronounced, as Miss Ballato steered her to a nearby bench, and settled her on it. "Stuffy, stuffy arseholes, who cannot dance. All things considered I prefer the stews."
"You must forgive her, she is a bit overexcited by the occasion," Miss Ballato said. "We are not often in such elevated company."
"Yes we are," Miss de Micturia said. "It's just that they're normally a bit further away. On the other side of the footlights."
"You are actresses?" Gerard asked, a little surprised, though that would explain why Miss Ballato seemed so familiar.
"Yes," Miss Ballato said, straightening her shoulders and raising her chin, as if expecting a cutting remark. "In London."
Gerard smiled at her, forgetting for a moment that he was supposed to disapprove, and probably to stomp off in a horrified huff. At that Miss Ballato relaxed a fraction, and returned his grin.
"You must tell me about it," Gerard said. "I am often at the theater, but, as you say, in the stalls. I'm sure it is more exciting in the wings."
"Surely your infamous cousin must have told a tale or two," Miss de Micturia said, but Miss Ballato ignored her.
"Oh, well, I suppose," Miss Ballato said, fussing absently with her hair. "All of the running about can be a bit tedious, sometimes, but mostly I don't mind."
"She'll drop in her traces, she will," Miss de Micturia chimed in. "March right through from Ophelia to the Lady before she kicks off."
"Do you have a favorite role?" Gerard asked, pretending to ignore Miss Ballato's outraged glare at her friend.
Miss Ballato went pink, and Gerard wondered, belatedly, if that was an inopportune question for one lady to ask another.
"She's quite fond of your Pirate Queen," Miss de Micturia explained. "It's all the swordfighting, y'see, and she gets to wear scandalous outfits while the rest of us run about shrieking."
Gerard's mouth dropped open, not from horror but the shock of memory clicking into place. Hang 'em High had only enjoyed a brief run in London, but the opening night had been a stunning success, thanks in large part to Miss Ballato.
"Right," Miss Ballato muttered, standing up and shaking out her skirts. "I think it's time we went back inside and left Miss Way to -" she paused, her attention caught by something or someone near the door "- oh bloody hell."
Gerard turned to see what had produced such a profane outburst, but before he could get a good look she had taken him by the hand and was tugging him deeper into the hedge maze, and hauling Miss de Micturia along behind them. Gerard stumbled after her, too stunned to protest.
"It's Captain Leto again," she hissed, wedging them into a handy curve of the maze. "I've been dodging him all night, and he is most persistent."
Gerard frowned, something like protective irritation blooming in his chest. "I'll have a word with him, if you like," he said, realizing too late that Miss Way would have no sway with the man, and also that he had used his normal voice.
Miss de Micturia, half in the hedge, made a small noise of triumph. Miss Ballato, too, did not seem distressed; in fact he she was chortling with delight.
"Don't worry, your secret is safe with us," Miss de Micturia said, and belched softly.
"It truly is," Miss Ballato said, recovering herself. "Though I'm perishing to know what prank you are pulling."
"It isn't a prank," Gerard said, somewhat stiffly. "I'm - investigating reports of malfeasance. We had intelligence that Mr. Korse's pet project Better Living Industries is a sham for cruelty, and we aim to put a stop to it."
"Killjoy," Miss de Micturia said, though without any real heat. "Also, you'd better find a finer costume than that one to do it in."
Gerard gathered himself to protest, but before he could speak, Miss Ballato reached out, took his hand and squeezed it gently.
"Forgive us, Captain," she murmured. "In truth we - I - have heard stories. We are here to investigate the man ourselves, as there is a rumor he is keen to expand his operations to London."
"So I have heard - and he is a vile blackguard," Gerard said, injured dignity forgotten. "You would do well to avoid his company."
"You know him?" Miss de Micturia asked, sounded significantly more sober than she had a few moments prior.
"I have been in his brig," Gerard said, as Miss Ballato's hand slipped away.
The loss of her warmth made the night air seem that much chillier. Between that, their penetration of his disguise, and his sudden awareness of the lateness of the hour, he was abruptly keen to get away.
"I see," Miss Ballato whispered. "The coast must be clear by now - we should go inside. Good luck to you, sir."
Gerard murmured his thanks and followed them out of the maze. They disappeared in a flurry of skirts as soon as they saw the lights of the house. Gerard was grateful to find only Mr. Walker standing on the back steps and peering into the gloom.
**
"All right," Gerard said, once Mikey had closed the door to the study and all of the men had found a place to sit. "Mr. Walker and I got a very good look, and it is definitely Mr. Korse we are pursuing."
"And how is the old man? Keeping poorly, I hope?" Iero asked.
"As well as ever, unfortunately. And well guarded, of course," Gerard said, sitting down on the edge of his desk and accepting a cup of tea from Mikey. "He has retained a large company of sharp-eyed sailors and dressed them as footmen."
"They cannot be his shipmates, can they?" Toro asked, incredulous, from his favorite chair by the window.
"I did see one or two familiar faces," Gerard conceded. "Including his first mate. Though while I did not know the others personally, most bore Neptune's mark upon their person."
Iero made an extremely rude remark under his breath and took a deep drink of his tea.
"He is organized and ambitious," Gerard continued, rising to pace awkwardly in the small space. "I am informed he plans to move to London immediately following the masquerade, so we must act quickly. Miss Ivarsson is still working on extracting an invitation, but if necessary we will go without one."
"All of us?" Toro asked, his voice carefully neutral.
"All of us," Gerard confirmed. "Save for the cabin boys, who will stay behind to mind the house. Miss Ivarsson informs me she will also attend, and Captain Saporta has offered the Cobras. Even Captain Beckett may be prevailed upon to bring the Barringtons if need be - "
"Any news of the captured Cobras?" Mikey interrupted, setting his cup and saucer down on the table.
"They were paroled the day before we left," Gerard said. "Saporta reported that they were returned to him in a terrible state, as if they had been guests of the Dey, but that they seem to be recovering well. He expects for them to be fit for duty shortly."
There was a brief pause while they all drank more tea.
"Captain Saporta and Miss Asher will go in first, and be announced - she has several titles, they will borrow one he is unlikely to recognize," Gerard continued. "Miss Way and Mr. Ghoul will follow them. The rest of you will come in quietly, through other channels. And when Korse addresses the gathering, we will show our true selves, and reveal his nefarious activities in a dramatic fashion."
He watched them think about that for a moment. Iero seemed intent on his tea, but Gerard knew that to be a front for deeper contemplation; Mikey and Toro were wary, but, he could see, still willing.
"Miss Ivarsson has gathered several stories from those who have recently escaped his clutches, which I shall fashion into scenes," Gerard continued. "I will share out your parts tomorrow, as we must start rehearsing right away. Mr. Iero, how are the costumes coming along?"
"Very well, sir, just need a stitch or two more here and there," Iero said. "Mr. Ross has been most helpful in that department."
Gerard made a pleased noise, and straightened up. "You are dismissed, gentlemen."
He waited until they had all murmured their farewells and shuffled out before he sat down at his desk. Miss Ivarsson's notes were written in a particularly dense, spikey hand, and he lost a significant chunk of the afternoon to deciphering them.
He was working on the last one when Iero came in with his afternoon tea. He took his time setting it up, making several trips back and forth across the study that struck Gerard as unnecessary. Gerard usually found the steady swish-thump of Iero's gait a comfort, but - he could not say why - at that moment it was nagging at him like an out-of-tune harp in an orchestra.
Gerard took the cup of tea offered to him, then, under the guise of struggling over a bit of dialogue, proceeded to watch Iero make a wholly unnecessary fuss over the angle of his tea sandwiches. Finally he couldn't take it any longer.
"Spill it out, Mr. Iero," he commanded, putting his pen down. "Are the cannon balls rolling over the deck?"
"No, sir, nothing like that," Iero said quickly, shifting uneasily on his peg. "It's just - I'm not one to peach on a shipmate, sir, but -" he paused for a deep breath "- but since you asked me directly, we have a stowaway."
"We - where is - he? She? Is it a man or a woman, Iero?" Gerard asked, all thoughts of the scene forgotten.
"We're not sure, sir, but we think they might be hidden in the cabin boys' quarters," Iero said, his face relaxing a fraction. "Smith was uncommon jumpy these last few days, and Ross has been playing the invalid but yet eating like he's on shore leave after a six months' cruise."
Gerard opened his mouth, then closed it again. "I will investigate immediately, Mr. Iero."
"Sir," Iero said, his tone and expression softening. "I'm sure they mean well - "
"Yes," Gerard said, pressing hair fingers against the lower ridges of his eyes. "I am sure there is some logical explanation for it. It is all right, Mr. Iero, you do yourself no dishonor, and I promise no harm shall come to them."
"Thank you, sir," Iero murmured, and showed himself out.
Gerard stood up and shook his cuffs out, then made his way upstairs. As he passed the through the parlour he heard someone in the kitchen, possibly Mr. Smith, singing Blood Red Roses in what was almost the right key. Gerard paused, tilting his head to one side, and listened, and yes, there was Mr. Ross making sly commentary about his friends' abilities, and Mikey laughing at Smith's doubtless aggrieved expression. The coast was clear.
Still, he took the steps two at a time, and hastily composed an excuse involving an urgently needed book, should either of them return, or should he have misidentified the singer. He opened the door slowly at first, and then more quickly when he confirmed the room was empty. With one quick glance over his shoulder, Gerard crossed to the bed, then crouched down and flipped the bedskirt up in one movement. He was only a little bit surprised to actually find a person there - a young man, and sleeping from what he could see in the gloom - and once he had determined the man had no obvious injuries, he dropped the bedskirt and straightened up.
"Right," he muttered to himself, then went to find his brother.
PART IV