The rain had eased, leaving the pavements and cobblestones in Jackdaw Square glistening in the glow of the street lamps. Even in normal, rowdier times, this more refined district preferred to carry out its crimes in private, behind thick curtains and oak-panelled doors. Now, just after midnight in the midst of the Blood Succession, the houses were united in a conspiratorial silence.
Presently, the door to one of the houses opened, briefly spilling light out on to the square, and a small man waddled down into a waiting carriage. With a loud giddy-up, the coachman spurred the horses into life, and the carriage rattled off into the night. As the sound died away, two figures dressed in black emerged from the shadows by the park railings and sized up the house in front of them.
“Where do you think he’s gone?” Raquella whispered.
Harry shrugged. “As long as it’s somewhere far away, I don’t care.”
Pulling out his lock picks, the boy darted across the street and set to work on Dr Hugo La Mort’s front door. Raquella kept a nervous lookout, convinced that at any second the lights would flick on in a neighbouring house, or a cry of alarm would go up. With the Bow Street Runners still abroad, this was the worst time to be caught committing a crime in Darkside.
After what seemed like an age, Harry made a small sound of satisfaction, and the lock clicked open. He ushered Raquella inside the residence and quietly closed the door behind them.
“Try not to disturb anything,” he urged in a low voice. “We don’t want the doctor knowing we’ve been here, if we can help it.”
“Yes, thank you, Harry,” the maid replied stiffly. “You are aware this isn’t my first burglary?”
The boy looked surprised for a second, and then grinned. “You’re a girl after my own heart, Raquella.”
She turned away, unwilling to give Harry the satisfaction of a reaction. Remembering the eerie encounter in the doctor’s study the last time she had been here, Raquella was unwilling to head straight upstairs. Instead, she led Harry around the ground floor, where they began combing for clues. The kitchen and front room were dark and dormant, but a lamp was still burning in the back room, and as she entered, the maid saw a sheaf of papers on the desk. Raquella pulled up a chair and began carefully leafing through them.
Most of the papers were letters from patients: angry accusations of malpractice and injury, the handwriting wobbly and the pages stained with blood; veiled threats of retribution; heartfelt pleas on behalf of sick loved ones. At the bottom of the pile, however, was a letter written on aged, yellowed paper, on which Raquella instantly recognized the smooth, controlled handwriting of her master. She called Harry over, and the pair of them began to read:
Vendetta Heights
8 May, DY 114
My dear Hugo,
As both your friend and banker, it has fallen to me to inform you that your account at my bank has run out of credit. It would appear that your fondness for games of chance at the Casino Sanguino has taken its toll. Have I not told you in the past, Hugo, that a wise man never gambles?
Usually in this situation, I would be taking certain punitive measures against you to retrieve your debt. Then again, I know you have no relatives I could harm, and your income depends upon you possessing both of your hands. Given our amicable relationship, I have decided to forestall the threat of violence, and instead arranged a very reasonable repayment plan. As a security, I have confiscated the key to your safety deposit box, which I know contains some items of great value to you. No doubt your desire to regain these items will spur you on to settle your debt sooner rather than later – just the sort of encouragement friends should provide for one another, don’t you think?
Regards,
G. Vendetta
“I guess that explains La Mort’s payments in the ledger,” Harry said eventually. “He was paying back Vendetta.”
Raquella nodded. “In a way, he was fortunate. My master is not always so understanding about debts.”
“Still, when Vendetta visited La Mort and told him he was going away for a while, the good doctor saw an opportunity to get his deposit box back sooner than they’d agreed. So he goes to the poorhouse and forces Mr Pelham to start snooping around the Heights.”
“Of course!” Raquella exclaimed. “The key! When we found the ledger in the secret room in the Heights, there was a key next to it. That’s what Mr Pelham was looking for! He was so close!”
“Which means. . .”
“Which means I know where the key is! We can go and get it now, and open the box before La Mort gets his hands on it.”
Harry put down the letter, frowning. “That’s a point. If Vendetta caught Mr Pelham, and La Mort didn’t get his hands on the key, what’s the doctor been doing in the meantime?”
There came a low moan from upstairs. Harry and Raquella froze.
“There’s someone here!” the maid mouthed, her eyes wide.
Harry nodded. “Sounds like they’re in pain, too,” he whispered.
Gesturing at Raquella to stay behind him, Harry pulled a long-handled dagger from his belt and crept back into the hallway, moving with the alert stealth of a cat. As he stole up the stairs, another pitiful moan wafted down from the doctor’s study. Raquella stayed as close to Harry as she could, reassured by his cool composure. Although the maid didn’t scare easily, there was something about the atmosphere in the still, stuffy house that chilled her to the core, and sent goosepimples scurrying across her skin.
The study door was ajar, allowing Harry to peer into the room before he entered. A gas lamp was still burning away, casting long shadows over the glass specimen jars and the gruesome diagrams on the wall. At first glance, the room appeared to be empty, but as Harry pushed the door further open, they heard the sound of whimpering coming from behind the floor-length curtain drawn across the back of the room.
Harry gestured at Raquella to wait by the doorway, and then moved soundlessly across the room. He grabbed hold of the curtain with one hand, raising his dagger with the other. The whimpering was louder now. Raquella had to fight the urge to cover her eyes.
Harry swept the curtain aside with a flourish, and took a sharp intake of breath.
In front of him sat a middle-aged man, tied into a chair with thick leather straps. On a tray next to the chair was the white porcelain bowl containing La Mort’s surgical instruments. As she neared, Raquella was sickened to notice that they were gleaming with fresh blood. Harry quickly cut the leather straps with his dagger and helped the man up and into an armchair. He appeared to be in shock – his limbs were trembling, and he rocked back and forward in his chair, clasping his hands together. It wasn’t until Raquella had poured him a large glass of brandy that he was able to speak.
“T-Thank you,” he stammered.
“Who are you?” the maid asked gently. “What happened?”
“My name is Frederick Longbourne,” the man answered bitterly. “Two days ago that . . . monster La Mort came into my shop, saying he wanted a spare key cut. When I turned to begin using my equipment, I felt a sharp stabbing pain in my neck, and everything went black. When I came to, I was strapped into this chair. La Mort was friendly at first. He told me he’d let me go after I’d given him what he wanted: a skeleton key to use in Vendetta’s bank.”
“A skeleton key?” Harry looked puzzled. “What’s that?”
“It’s a master key,” replied Longbourne. “It has adjustable teeth, and can open any lock.”
“Why didn’t you just give it to him?” Raquella asked.
“It’s not that simple. The skeleton key is the most prized possession of a locksmith, and his greatest secret. If it falls into the wrong hands, then anyone can open any door, and there are no uses for locks any more. When I refused to hand it over he became angry, and began to. . .”
Longbourne nodded at the instruments in the bowl, unable to say any more. Raquella shivered.
“I held out for as long as I could, but I could tell that time was running out for him. Tonight he lost patience and . . .” the locksmith shifted awkwardly in his chair, wincing with pain “. . . I couldn’t take it any more. My skeleton key was hidden in a secret compartment in my belt buckle. He removed it and left immediately. Though not before he told me what he was going to do to me when he returned. La Mort is . . . inhuman.”
Harry nodded. “It’s amazing you resisted for as long as you did.” He glanced at Raquella, and said crisply, “Take him to a real doctor. I’ll go to the Heights and get the key, and then we can meet up back at the bank.”
Loungbourne shook his head wearily. “There’s no time for all that, don’t you see? La Mort’s gone to the bank now. Unless you go after him right away, he’ll be long gone!”
“But we can’t just leave you like this!” Raquella said.
“You’ve freed me – that’s enough. It’s more important that you stop him, whatever he’s doing.”
Harry nodded. As he and Raquella made to leave the study, the locksmith caught his arm. When Longbourne spoke this time, there was a cold, hard edge to his voice.
“If you find yourself up against La Mort, don’t hesitate to hurt him.”
“I don’t think you have to worry about that,” Harry replied ominously.