Chapter Twenty-Eight

VINCE HUNTED ABOUT for the key to the sewing room and finally found it at the back of a drawer filled with spindles. He locked the door and handed the key to Orla, with strict instructions not to open it until he returned. He insisted on going alone.

Sorcha told him she didn’t care what he wanted and bundled herself into the carriage with him. “If I’m ever going to be of any use in this town I need to know what you know about its underbelly.”

“Watch is gone,” he said. “Planning to join the Sentinels?”

Sorcha raised an eyebrow. “No chance. But even they can’t be everywhere. I want to help, and if I have to do it outside the law, so be it.”

Vince said he thought it was hardly just an underbelly any longer. When he had been in charge, there was an order to the disorder, so to speak. Criminals had grown bolder of late, pushing their luck. He disapproved of the heavy-handed approach of the Sentinels but understood why it appealed to some citizens. When a wound starts to bleed you don’t just patiently mop up the blood, you sew up the hole so it can never leak again.

The carriage rocked from side to side on the uneven roads and more than once the horse whinnied at someone who ran out in front of it.

“Say something,” Vince said.

“I’m sorry. Are you really telling me to talk? Being a bit too stoic for your tastes, am I?”

Vince grumbled and shifted about. “Doesn’t do any good to bottle things up. Man you love just confessed to murder.”

“First of all, I don’t love Alfie Exeter, I just want to kiss his stupid face, and run my hands through his stupid hair, and squeeze his stupid peachy bum. Second of all, how I feel about him is none of your business, Commander.”

“Third of all?”

She threw her hands in the air. “How could he lie to me so brazenly? He wasn’t chasing Ms Crimp’s killer; he was running away from us! He looked me right in the face and lied.”

“Perfectly reasonable to be upset.”

“I’m not upset. I’m angry. I’m feckin’ furious, actually. I could throttle him, so I could.”

“Perfectly reasonable too.”

Sorcha tugged aside the carriage curtain as they drew up at the Frost & Thaw Tearoom. “What are we doing here?”

Vince leapt out of the carriage and made straight for the main entrance.

Sorcha hurried along beside him, keeping her voice low. “If we’re looking for whoever coerced Alfie, wouldn’t we be better off going softly?”

“Surprise is good,” Vince said. “Shock is better.”

He slammed open the doors without breaking his stride and marched inside. A man at the door tried to stop him. Vince slapped a clockwork flamingo to the floor. It clattered to pieces. The man howled as he tried to find all the parts before they rolled away.

The great tearoom, with its glass walls held in place by black, coiling metal bars, wouldn’t get going until later in the evening. Still, its owner, Ms Clementine Frost, was in attendance, making sure everything would be ready for the evening’s entertainment.

Vince’s voice filled the space. “Bring him out here! Now!”

Most of Ms Frost’s attendants scurried about, some ducked, and some froze on the spot like frightened deer.

Ms Frost held up her hands. “Mr Knight, I’ll have to ask you to leave.”

Vince slipped his fingers under a table laden with glassware and flipped it over. The shattering echoed through the tearoom. “Not until I’ve spoken with him.”

Ms Frost, to her credit, didn’t budge an inch. “I’m sure I don’t know who you mean, and I can’t imagine there is a single person on my premises who could possibly be of interest to you.”

She held her ground in front of him, tilting her head as she stared him down. Her golden hair fell in curls over one shoulder.

In other circumstances, Vince would look at her in an entirely different light. “Quaintance,” he said, in his most sonorous tone.

Ms Frost’s eyebrow twitched. “Mister Quaintance isn’t here.”

Vince leaned in close to her face. “Can tear this place apart looking for him. Or you can go get him.”

“No need, my dear,” came a voice from the balcony above. Mr Noss Quaintance, wearing a coral satin waistcoat and matching breeches, leaned on the railing.

Sorcha spoke out of the side of her mouth. “Are you sure you’ve got the right fella? He doesn’t look the type.”

“What type?” Ms Frost asked.

Vince pointed up at him, jabbing his finger as he spoke. “Pennyman filth. Arranges murder. Never gets his hands dirty. Coward.”

“Steady on, Mr Knight,” Ms Frost said. “My companion is not one of your rabble to be accused and accosted willy-nilly. And he most certainly is not involved with the Pennymen.”

“It’s well past time Mr Knight and I spoke,” Quaintance said. “May we use your office?”

“Stay,” Vince said to Sorcha. He paused and whispered, “Mean it this time. Keep an eye on her.”

Ms Frost stepped to one side, and Vince stomped up the black spiral staircase to a little office at the top of the tearoom. More wood than glass, it offered a degree of privacy. The patterned carpet sank under Vince’s boots, and the scent of honeysuckle filled the air.

Quaintance poured himself a gin and sat in a wingback chair. “You should try to control your temper when you’re out in daylight, Mr Knight. The people here are not the petty crooks and cutthroats you are used to mingling with in the moonlight. We are not in the gutters now, you know.”

“Any place with you in it is a gutter.”

“You never used to speak to me like this,” Quaintance said. “You used to know better.”

“Town is out of balance. Old ways have been cast aside. No place for scum like you now.”

“At least I can pass myself off in decent society,” Quaintance said swirling his drink. “Look at you. You don’t belong here, in a civilised place, among civilised people. You barely fit up that stairwell, you duck through every door, you darken every room you enter. You are an obscenity, Mr Knight. A rabid dog pretending to be a man.”

Vince’s blood started to boil, his ears started to burn. “Should drag you to the magistrates right now.”

“And how do you imagine it will go? My dearest friend in all the world is on the ruling council. I have connections all across this town. I have money to pay off anyone I choose. You, on the other hand, have burst in here and caused quite a bit of damage. And, as I understand it, your Watch no longer exists. What’s to stop me from dragging you before the magistrates, Mr Knight?”

Vince stood tall and balled his fists. “Like to see you try.”

Quaintance laughed into his drink. “I’m sure you would. Perhaps I’ll send for a troop of Sentinels to take you away. Maybe I’ll even have them rough you a bit first, what do you say to that, hmm? Hah. What are you doing here, you shambling wretch?”

“Alfie Exeter confessed to killing Spradbery. Did it to clear his debts. Led me right to you.”

Quaintance sucked his teeth. “Now, Mr Exeter should have known better. He’ll have to be punished. He really shouldn’t have mentioned my name.”

“Didn’t. Didn’t have to. Know how you operate. Recognised your handiwork. Find someone in dire straits. Offer to get them out of it. Little stabbing here. Little killing there. Debt goes away. All their problems solved. Seen you do it more than once. Waste of a life. Another vulnerable youngster manipulated. Exploited.”

“Hah, are we talking about me or you?”

“Wasn’t your idea to kill Spradbery. Want to know who paid you.”

“That would be frightfully bad for business. My clients do expect anonymity.”

Vince set his hands on his hips and narrowed his gaze. “Port Knot changed when you weren’t looking,” he said. “Thought you could go about your business the way you always have. Problem you have now is I know all the dirty secrets of this town. Rabbit put me in charge for that very reason. Time was, what you got up to didn’t matter to me. Weren’t a threat to me or my operation. Had a use for you before. No longer. Should just do away with you. Snap your neck, and be done with it. But trying to be better. Give everyone a chance. Even scum like you.”

“A chance to do what?”

“Change. Be better.”

“Oh, but Vince,” Quaintance said, almost laughing, “what if I just don’t want to?”

Vince reached over and carefully plucked the glass from Quaintance’s grip, setting it delicately onto the sideboard. Then he placed his hand around Quaintance’s long, elegant neck and squeezed. He dragged the man to his knees and placed the nails of his thumb and forefinger around Quaintance’s left eyeball.

“Find myself in need of a new eye,” Vince said, his rumbling voice almost a whisper. “Wonder if yours will fit?” He flexed his fingers.

“Stop! Stop!” Quaintance said, his voice almost a shriek. “Lieutenant Hancock of the Lancelot Striking hired my services. She wanted Spradbery dead.”

“Why?”

“She didn’t say; they never do. And I don’t ask. She just said it had to be done as soon as possible.”

He could kill Quaintance. He could. Right now. No one could stop him. He would be swept away in the familiar and comforting red mist that consumed him at times like these, that moved his limbs, that kept him safe from his enemies. Instincts born in blood and finessed in a thousand fights. He would tell Rabbit that Quaintance pulled a knife. That he had no choice.

Vince’s breathing grew faster and faster. He gritted his teeth. His vision started to blur. He tightened his grip. Quaintance started to gurgle. He deserves it. He’s arranged so many murders. He has so much blood on his hands. But then, so had Vince. And if Vince was serious about this new life of his, if he was really serious, he was going to have to try hard to curb these tendencies. To silence these voices. He didn’t fear reprisal; he feared what it would to do him…inside. How could he look Sorcha in the eye and tell her he was doing his best to change? Or his brother? His mother? He’d worked so hard this past year, he couldn’t throw it all away, not for the likes of Quaintance. And he would be throwing it away, he knew that for certain. It would be the thin end of the wedge. The start of a very slippery slope. His chest tightened, his neck grew sore and stiff.

Quaintance could not simply be left unpunished. He had to know his place. What had Vince said to Sorcha? Surprise is good. Shock is better. He leaned in close and whispered into Quaintance’s ear. “Always have to be the dandy, don’t you? Always the gillyflower—never a hair out of place.”

He suddenly let go and Quaintance dropped to the floor, panting on his hands and knees. Sneering, Vince stood over him and undid the buttons of his own fall front breeches. He withdrew his member and relieved himself on the back of Quaintance’s head. Quaintance spluttered and fell back against his chair, Vince’s stream following him. Quaintance wheezed and wiped his own face. The urine left dark islands in the ocean of plush, blue carpet.

Quaintance gasped as he tried to shield himself. “What are you doing, you animal!”

“Even a rabid dog marks his territory.” Vince shook his manhood and tucked it away. “Seems you forgot Port Knot is mine. All of it. Always has been. Always will be. No matter what side of the law I’m on. Your assassins try it with me, I’m feeding them to my dog. Then I’m coming back for that eye. Behave yourself in my town.”