Chapter Nineteen

VINCE COMPOSED HIMSELF and knocked on the door.

“About time,” Sorcha said. She let him into her tailor shop. “You’re cutting it fine. Take your shirt off and help yourself to the oil on the counter.”

Vince lifted the bottle next to the comb and sniffed it.

“It’s for your hair!” Sorcha called from the sewing room.

He cupped his hand and poured a little of the oil into it. He spread it onto his head and combed it through. Though he kept his beard short, he touched a little of the oil into it.

Sorcha appeared from the sewing room, shirt in hand. She set it on the counter. “Bend down. Come on.” She took the comb and tidied his hair. “It’s like you’ve never used oil before.”

He stripped off his old linen shirt and tried on the new one Sorcha had made for him. It fit perfectly. “Not wearing this.”

“Commander…”

He held up his arms. The sleeves had been made from yard after yard of soft, thin cotton and the frilled lace cuffs wafted like lions’ manes. Worst of all, the collar with its rolling cascade of ruffles ran down his chest like a river breaking over rocks. “Feel like a peacock.”

“Don’t exaggerate. You’ve got a nice shirt and tidy hair. You’re not King Louis.” She pointed at his trousers. “Are those the best you have? Have you no breeches? Are they clean, at least?”

“’Course! Know how to wash my clothes.”

Sorcha ducked her head and raised her shoulders. “Sorry, sorry, but you can never be sure with men like you. You look the type to regard cleanliness as a moral failing. I haven’t time to run you up a new pair, and I definitely don’t have any in your size. You could moor boats to those thighs.” She pulled his braces up over his shoulders. “Now, I found a nice waistcoat and let it out a bit for you. And before you start about not needing one, you do. You’re going to Rabbit’s home. Silver Hope. One of the seven great houses of Blackrabbit. You have to look nice. Or at least nicer.”

“Didn’t know you cared.”

“Yes, well, you’re my commander and if you look bad it’ll reflect poorly on the Watch. And also if you get this wrong I might be out of work. Brush those dog hairs off your lap before you go. Where is that animal of yours? You’re not bringing him with you.”

“Left him at the Watch House. Taken a shine to Walter.”

“Lucky him.”

She thrust his overcoat into his hand and began to shove him out of the shop. “Now, get in a carriage, be polite, and try not to grunt at anyone.”

HE PULLED AT his collar the whole way. He never usually wore shirts so tight. Mostly because his bull neck wouldn’t allow it, but he preferred to wear them open. He found it more comfortable.

The carriage rattled along Miner’s Rest and out of town. It would still be some hours before sunset, but he kept his eyes peeled for highwayfolk. The Gunbrides had been known to prey on travellers in the countryside under the cover of darkness and with them all currently ensconced in Gull’s Reach, it paved the way for enterprising upstarts to take the reins. Nonetheless, the carriage passed along unmolested and soon raced through the high, round gates of Silver Hope.

Vince paid the driver to stay. “Hopefully won’t be here long.”

The driver nodded and took his carriage to the stables courtyard where he joined the other waiting coachmen. The great house sat alone on a cliff edge to the east of the island. The roof of Wolfe-Chase Asylum sat solemnly in the distance, across rolling fields and barren hills.

Footmen-and-women waited on the steps to provide assistance. Inside the grand entrance hall, Vince took a glass of wine from a silver tray. About him, the great and the good of Blackrabbit society halted their mingling long enough to stare at him and whisper. He growled under his breath.

“It’s all a bit much, isn’t it?”

James approached him, descending from the sweeping staircase as though he owned the place. Dressed in ivory silk shirt and breeches, with a white woollen coat embroidered with silver thread, he cut a fine figure.

“Dressed for it,” Vince said. The Samble family had made their money from silver mining. “Not sure I’ve seen you out of uniform before.”

James raised his eyebrows and sipped his wine. “Oh, I’m fairly certain you have.”

Vince glared at him, causing James to laugh.

“If I may say, I am surprised to see you here.”

Vince hooked a finger into his collar to loosen it. “Not the sort of place I’m used to.”

“You surprise me.”

Vince had to hand it to Sorcha; she knew what she was talking about. His frilly shirt blended in perfectly with the general garb of the gathering. If anything, it wasn’t quite frilly enough. Badger—in his salmon-pink stockings, ruffled shirt, and silken frock coat—looked as though he were attending the court of the Sun King. Vince had never cared for the excesses of fashion. Though if anything could change his mind on the matter, it might well be the sight of James in all his finery. His auburn hair and beard had been trimmed to perfection, the ends of his moustache swept up just the right amount, and his suit hugged him in all the best places. “Never thought I’d see the inside of this house.”

James’s grin widened. “Not by invitation, at least.”

A troupe of footwomen arrived, carrying lanterns. Each took a handful of people with them through to the next high-ceilinged room. It contained no lights and the windows had been shuttered. Half a dozen concave tables stood, waist height, around which the guests were urged to gather. Vince and James had one to themselves. Once every table had been occupied, a gong sounded.

In the middle of the room, a striker-lantern flared to life, illuminating the figure of Rabbit herself.

“Guests. Friends. Thank you all for coming. Silver Hope was built here to enjoy the spectacular sights of our beautiful island. But why go outside in the bracing cold when the sights can be brought in?” She raised her hand, and in seconds, the white bowls of the concave table flooded with light from above and began to move. Waves blasted against chalk-white cliffs, birds flew across rolling countryside, carriages rattled along laneways, and finally, the town of Port Knot shimmered into view, full of life and movement.

Guests gasped and squealed with delight. Some reached into the bowl to touch the illusions, only to have their hands become home to a darting rabbit or diving gull.

Vince craned his neck to get a better look at the mechanism in the ceiling. A copper box above where Rabbit stood fed pipes over each table. Around the cornicing, a clockwork device ran slowly on a rail.

“It’s connected to a rotating turret on the roof,” James said. “The images come from outside, through lenses and looking glasses, and then into each bowl. I’ve seen these sorts of camera obscura before, though never on this scale, I must admit.”

The crowd clapped and cheered at the spectacle. As the panorama turned, the sky began to dim. The projection halted over the sea as the clouds turned first to a hearty orange, then melted to a cheerful pink. The light warmed James’s face, enlivening the auburn tones in his ducktail beard. Vince laid his hand on the table, next to James’s. James stretched his little finger out to delicately touch Vince’s, his silver wolf ring all but glowing from the projection. A tingle raced through Vince’s arm. He slid his hand closer just as the doors to the room were flung open, allowing light from the hall to flood in. The projections turned murky before fading from sight altogether. Silhouetted in the doorway, Fox stood with her companion, Mr Noss Quaintance.

“Oops,” Fox said. “Hope we didn’t spoil the moment?”

TO VINCE’S IMMENSE disappointment, chatter at the dinner table danced between the price of fish, how best to improve the older piers, and the difficulties in transporting rocks from the quarries through an ever-expanding town. Not once did anyone mention the Gunbrides.

James leaned in, keeping his voice to a whisper. “You’re still brooding. You are at a party. You might try to act like it.”

Vince dabbed his mouth on his napkin. “Feels wrong, this. Celebrating while Gull’s Reach is—”

“Occupied?”

“In distress.”

“There’s nothing to be done about it at the moment, so why not simply relax and enjoy yourself?”

Magpie of the council caught Vince’s attention from across the table. His dimpled smile widened when he spoke. “It’s quite a thrill to have you here, Mr Knight. I never imagined I’d be sharing a table with your sort.”

Vince’s fork paused halfway between plate and mouth.

Magpie laughed, awkwardly. “Well, you know what I mean. The criminal class. I never understood it, myself. This innate need some people are born with to cause strife, to become larcenists, say, to set themselves so thoroughly outside of society.” He laughed again. “It quite boggles the mind.” He looked around the table for some support and found more than Vince would have liked.

He set his fork down and wiped his mouth. “Wonder why they steal? Sitting here with gold candlesticks while people freeze and starve.”

“And that justifies their crimes?”

“More explanation than justification.”

Magpie laughed again as if being interrogated by a child. “Are we to be blamed for the circumstances of our birth?”

“Are they?”

As he ate, Vince became aware of a growing sense of unease within himself—a vague notion his presence was nothing more than a part of Rabbit’s entertainment for the evening. A curiosity for her guests to gawp at. Every now and then, his little jug ears picked up talk of his past, of his crimes.

Swan commented on how, by rights, he ought to be behind bars. He not only felt out of place, he looked it too. So much larger was he than anyone else present, even James, a space had to be cleared in order to make room for him at the table. A fact which did not go uncommented upon.

He made a point of resting his massive forearms on the table, daring anyone to draw him on the point. If he had to take up room, then he would take up as much room as he possibly could. After all, it’s not as though the tiny portions they were being served needed it.

Rabbit pointed to the ring on James’s little finger. A silver band engraved with a snarling, pacing wolf. “That’s an unusual choice for a nautical man.”

“It was a gift,” James said. “A long time ago. A reminder.”

“Of?”

James took a deep breath and turned the stem of his wine glass between his fingers. “The importance of vigilance,” he said. “Many moons ago, I was a lieutenant serving aboard a ship named the Ivy. We were near Tortuga and rescued a woman from a tiny atoll. She said she’d been shipwrecked and had swum to safety but we all knew what really happened. She was a pirate, and she’d been marooned there by her crew. Left to die in the sun. The captain wanted to lock her up until we found out who she was, but I argued against it. She was a hard worker and keen to start a new life for herself. The captain released her to my charge.

“She pitched in wherever she could, swabbed the decks, worked the rigging. Might have been the best sailor on the ship, and I include myself in that. Everyone kept telling me to watch my back. The quartermaster, in particular, a German fellow, bent my ear about her any chance he got.

“Anyway, after about a month at sea, I was roused from my bunk by a call of fire. We were besieged by a pirate ship. Our new recruit had gotten word to her old crew that she had a C.T.C. ship ripe for the plucking. She used it as a way to get back into their good books. I tried to convince her to side with us, but she’d made up her mind. There was a fight and our captain was killed by her crew. She left with them, and that was that.

“I was terribly guilt-ridden, of course. And I thought my career with the C.T.C. was over. The crew agreed the pirate had them all fooled. They had started to see her as one of them. A week or so later, the quartermaster called me into his cabin. He presented me with this ring he’d made from the sword which felled our captain. And he said these words: ‘Feed the wolves in winter and be eaten in the spring’. I found it to be a valuable lesson, and so when I took command of the Lancelot Striking, my first ship as captain, I had copies of the ring made for all my lieutenants and sergeants.”

Rabbit locked eyes with Vince for just a moment before tasting her wine. Oblivious to all others around them, Fox and Mr Quaintance laughed and made merry. Mr Noss Quaintance, a graceful man with golden-brown skin, wore an ostentatious suit better suited to a royal court than a dinner. The material of his pewter frock coat comprised of thousands of tiny lilies embroidered along the cuffs, lapels, and pockets with large peach-coloured flowers emerging from a bank of green-and-yellow bushes. His silken waistcoat showed similar florals, giving the man the appearance of being nothing less than the spirit of spring itself come to dine in the depths of autumn.

His moustache, slim. His eyes, enchanting. His manners, impeccable. Though not aristocracy by birth, Mr Noss Quaintance could give any one of them a run for their money. He also, Vince knew from experience, could be absolutely ruthless. They had met several times before, and each time Vince had to fight the urge to snap the man’s neck. Every time Mr Quaintance opened his mouth, the blood boiled in Vince’s ears.

“I once attended a show in Paris,” Mr Quaintance said. “They had all manner of acrobats and dancers breathing fire. At the climax of the show, they brought out a child’s chair and table and set upon it a teapot, cups, and the daintiest little cakes you ever did see. Then they brought out a mangy dancing bear to sit at the table. I never laughed so much as I did at the sight of the animal trying to lift the cup and saucer. It was as though the shabby beast thought it were a real person!”

“It sounds delightful,” Fox said. “When was this?”

“Oh, years ago,” Mr Quaintance said, just loud enough for everyone at the table to hear. “I cannot think why the memory of it came to me this evening. I say, Mr Knight, you do know that particular fork was meant for the fish course?”

A murmur of amusement rippled along the table.

Vince skewered a piece of venison and held it up. “Fork doesn’t know that.” He shoved the meat into his mouth, maintaining eye contact all the while.

Mr Quaintance turned and spoke some words to Fox, who giggled. Under the tablecloth, James lay his hand on Vince’s thigh and squeezed. “Take a deep breath,” he said. “And more sensible bites.”