Fiendish Schemes (27 page)

“Actually, sir . . .” The youngest of the group spoke up. “I’d rather fancy having a go at that.”

“Time enough,” growled his superior, “when we’ve got this bastard stowed away in a cell.” He nodded in anticipated satisfaction. “Then we can do it at our leisure.”

“But—” The shock of this unforeseen arrest dissipated—barely so, but enough to allow me to produce an utterance of my own. “Who are you? What is the meaning of this?”

“As if you didn’t know.” My captor thrust the handle of his truncheon into my stomach, hard enough to double me over. “You’re in the custody of the Metropolitan Police—as well you should be.”

Clutching a forearm to my belly, I gasped for breath. “On . . .” The words came out in an asphyxiated wheeze. “On what charge?”

“You’ll have a stack of those to read over. It’ll give you something to do, to pass the hours where you’re going. As for now, being a bloody menace to society should be sufficient.”

I was shoved toward another, much grimmer-looking carriage, with bars upon its tiny windows. Glancing back over my shoulder, I saw that Stonebrake had dismounted from the brougham, seemingly of his own volition. He stood with a casual, unsurprised air with the constables, as though he might have been one of their number.

“Stonebrake,” I called out to him as I was forced upon the steps leading to the carriage’s dark interior. “Help me—”

My outburst was not looked upon with favour by those into whose hands I had fallen. This time, the truncheon did indeed land upon my skull, the blow directed from behind. If not of sufficient force to render me completely unconscious, it nevertheless sent the world spinning about me, constituent elements flying in all directions.

Which left me in utter, toppling darkness when the carriage’s iron doors were slammed shut at my feet. Lying upon its narrow floor, I was distantly aware of the vehicle lurching forward, carrying me to some unknown but still dreaded destination.

T
HE
attentive reader might well recall the distaste I have expressed on previous pages, regarding the unease I had experienced upon being forced to survey various events while ensconced in locations made even more precarious by their elevation. Those judgements now seemed a cause for chagrin, as I discovered that low, secluded places could be even less comfortable.

I speak of the cell to which I had been conveyed by those agents of the Metropolitan Police that I had but lately encountered on the streets of London. “Encountered” being, of course, a euphemism for having been rendered unconscious through the obviously well-practiced application of a constable’s truncheon upon my skull. A dim memory of transport in a carriage locked from the exterior, with blurred glimpses of the city’s clouds roiling past the barred windows, ebbed from my awareness as I painfully raised myself to a sitting position on a cold stone floor.

With one hand rubbing the bruised knot at the back of my head, I wincingly examined my confines. The cell was of such limited dimensions that I would scarcely have been able to stand upright or stretch out my arms to their full extent. The only illumination came from a flickering lamp somewhere in the corridor outside, the feeble glow barely able to make its passage through the bars of the minute window in the riveted iron door. More by the sense of smell than sight, I perceived a rusting bucket underneath the chain-swung bunk at one side, that being the cell’s only furnishing. The filth-crusted pail had presumably been placed there for hygienic purposes—or if not, it certainly seemed to have been so used by legions of the cell’s previous unhappy occupants.

Seating myself on the bunk, as far from the odorous receptacle as possible, I bleakly contemplated my situation. This seemed a new low point in my progress through the world. If I had previously not considered that such was possible, then the blinders had certainly been lifted from my eyes. How much wisdom mankind attains, when its individual specimens remind themselves that things can always get worse.

Such was my philosophical conclusion, quickly reached. But its broad strokes did little to limn the exact details of my predicament. The literal aspect of my conveyance hence—being dragged from the brougham
en route
back to Featherwhite House, then menaced by policemen who had subsequently made good on their threats, and at last the jouncing, semi-conscious ride in the locked carriage—was all more or less retained in my thoughts, jumbled as they still might have been. As was also the image of the traitorous Stonebrake, so obviously in league with the police, poised in chummy familiarity with them.

Or perhaps he
was
one of them—that dark suspicion entered my mind now. In some lesser or greater capacity—perhaps as a paid informant, one of those loathsome individuals who make a shabby living by selling out their unsuspecting confederates, or even an actual member of the Metropolitan force. By now, given the unsettling things I had witnessed, no possibility remained which I was willing to rule out of bounds. The one element they had in common was the degree to which I had been hoodwinked by the artful Stonebrake, whoever and whatever he might be in reality. As to what motive he might have had in so deluding me—that was even further beyond conjecture.

Leaning forward on the bunk, I agitatedly chewed upon a knuckle, castigating myself for the folly of having ever trusted the man. It seemed a fundamental injustice in the Universe’s composition that an Englishman could not simply go about his plans for suicide, as I had been doing, without being interrupted therein and inveigled into less productive endeavours. If I had but the opportunity to confront the villain . . .

“Dower . . .” A whisper touched lightly upon my senses. “Over here—”

Either my recent misadventures, compounded by the truncheon’s impact, had completely disarranged my reason—or I had arrived in some more fortuitous mode of existence, in which to merely wish something was the same as having it delivered upon the proverbial silver platter. For upon looking up toward the apparent source of what I had first believed to be an auditory hallucination, I beheld the very face of my tormentor, peering in at me through the cell door’s iron-barred window.

“Stonebrake . . .”

“Keep it down, man.” In the dim light afforded by the corridor’s lantern, I saw him turn his face away, then look back toward me. “We don’t want them to overhear us.”

Of whom he spoke was but one more mystery laid upon the others in towering proportion. I squinted in his direction, attempting to ascertain beyond doubt that he was of actual substance and not a figure conjured from my disordered imagination.

“That being the case . . .” I decided to accept the man’s existence on a provisional basis. “Perhaps it would be better if we did not speak at all. What with there being few pleasantries we could exchange at the moment, which would be worth whatever risk it is you speak of.”

“Are you feeling quite all right?” Stonebrake pressed his face closer to the bars, studying me with some apparent perplexity. “You seem unnaturally calm. I confess that I had anticipated some ill temper on your part—given the circumstances.”

“Why should I be angry?” I rose from the bunk and stepped to the door, bringing my face as close as possible to his. “I’m sure it’s all some sort of misunderstanding. And yes, you’re right: we do need to keep our voices down.”

“I’m glad you feel that way toward me. . . .”

So relieved was Stonebrake, he did not notice my reaching through the bars at the side of the aperture.

“And yes, it is a misunderstanding. Of a sort—”

His words were cut off by the simple fact of my suddenly grasping the back of his head and, with as much violence as I was capable, slamming his face against the bars.

“Miscreant!” To the best of my recall, I spoke not that word but one of a cruder variety, albeit of approximately the same meaning. “Do you really imagine me so foolish as to listen once more to you? Whatever further scheme you might be hatching, the chances of my being inveigled into it are nil.” Having taken him by surprise, I was able to bring his face sharply against the bars again. A satisfying blossom of red burst from one nostril. “It’s not as if your previous ones have worked out so wonderfully, is it?”

“For God’s sake, leave off—” He managed to extricate himself from my grasp. “Of what do you imagine that
you
have to complain?”

“Complain? I’ll give you
complain
.” Reaching through the bars to the full extent of my arm, I futilely attempted to once more ensnare his head. “I’m in
prison
—or hadn’t you noticed?”

“Technically, not so.” Stonebrake stanched his bleeding nose with a pocket handkerchief. “One can only be imprisoned upon a successful prosecution by the state—and so far, you haven’t even had formal charges laid against you.”

“So this is not prison?” I glanced around my bleak confines, then back to him. “I must confess, then, that whatever it is, I find the difference between it and actual prison to be vanishingly small.”

“A mere matter of perception.” Stonebrake examined the bloodied cloth in his hand, then applied it to his nose again. “It only seems to be that way to you. In fact, you are housed several levels below the Houses of Parliament, in the ancient cellars of Westminster Palace. That’s not so bad, is it?”

“I’d be freer to see it so congenially, if I were standing where you are. Rather than in here.”

“Soon enough,” he replied, “you won’t be where you currently are. That is why we need to talk, while there is time.”

“Upon further reflection, perhaps I would prefer to remain where I am.” Our brief altercation, while initially gratifying, had left me both physically exhausted and emotionally enervated. “I can only imagine that whatever place to which I might be spirited would somehow be even worse than this. It’s not exactly as if you possess a shining history in this regard.”

“I assure you, Dower, there
are
worse places—”

“You would know.”

“
And
I am endeavouring to save you from them.”

“By handing me over to the police?” I gazed at him in astonishment. “On whatever trumped-up pretext you related to them? Please—spare me any further kindnesses on your part.”

“You fret yourself needlessly,” said Stonebrake. “Your arrest was nothing.”

“A statement easily made by you.” I rubbed the back of my own head, feeling the tender knot that the constable’s truncheon had raised there. “I assure you, it felt substantial at the moment.”

“Do move on, Dower. It was no more than was necessary. All part of a greater plan.”

“
Everything
is, according to you. Plans within plans, within schemes, all without apparent end.”

“Yes, yes; whatever you say.” He spoke with even more apparent haste. “This is hardly the occasion for such petty bickering. If you’d but listen to me, you’d realize that you are in nearly as grave a danger as I am.”

“As
you
are?” An involuntary laugh escaped from me. “You might recall that I’m the one in prison—or whatever this is, that my mind is supposed to be so much more at ease about.”

“Try to keep some perspective on the matter, Dower. You are at risk, at the most, of being summarily executed.”

“Good God.” I felt the blood drain from my face, as tepid water rushes downward when a bathtub plug is removed. “Is that likely?”

“There’s a good possibility,” Stonebrake allowed. “For our schemes to advance, we needed to set forth on admittedly treacherous ground. But do bear in mind, that if such were to happen—and I imagine that a hastily convened military firing squad would be the probable arrangement along those lines—all you would endure would be that demise, and by virtually the same means, that not too long ago you were attempting to engineer for yourself. Whereas if our joint endeavours were indeed to run aground, I would have all my hopes and dreams of wealth dashed to pieces.”

“Yes, of course. How selfish of me not to regard the state of your bank account as the greatest good to be achieved in this world. Obviously, my life pales in comparison.”

My sarcasm had no apparent effect on him; he might not even have perceived it. For myself, I was increasingly annoyed by having my earlier attempts at self-destruction constantly thrown in my face as a debating point. Having once engaged in that sort of activity, it would seem that one is henceforth at a disadvantage in negotiation with others. If Stonebrake were typical in this regard—and I had no reason to believe he wasn’t—the assumption is made that one has little or no interest in avoiding a volley of bullets into one’s vital organs. This, I believe, is essentially a self- serving position on the part of not just someone such as Stonebrake, but the population in general.

“I’m glad you see it that way.” Something unseen rattled inside the door as Stonebrake spoke. “A helpful attitude will facilitate what we so urgently need to do.”

To my further amazement, the cell door swung inward, creaking on its ancient hinges as it did so. Revealed through the opened doorway was the great iron key that Stonebrake held in his grasp.

“Thank God!” I sprang to my feet. “Disregard whichever of my previous comments you choose. Let us make haste—”

“Not so quickly.” Stonebrake halted my forward progress with a hand against my chest. “You must remain here a while longer.”

“Pardon me?” I blinked in confusion. “But—you said a moment ago—that there were others on their way here.” I had assumed he meant my gaolers or others I had no wish to encounter. “Surely you came to rescue me from them.”

“Actually, not.” With greater force, he pushed me back from the cell’s doorway. “That’s not part of the plan—”

“Bugger your plan.” My emotions had been heightened by the prospect of fleeing from the spot; to have that prospect seemingly snatched away was more than I could endure. “I’m entirely comfortable with the notion of your staying here, if you so choose. I’m for taking to my heels—”

“Don’t be a fool.” His restraining hand remained where it was. “Highly unlikely that you’d be able to find your way out of these facilities.”

“I’m willing to take the chance. Let me go—”

“And destroy our chances of achieving our goal and its attendant wealth? I think not. Everything now depends upon your utter coöperation, Dower.”

“More’s the pity, then.” I frantically attempted to get around the man, but he successfully blocked all access to the cell’s exit. “This might be a good time to dissolve our partnership—”

“Too late for that.” Stonebrake clapped his hands to my shoulders and roughly shoved me back down upon the narrow bunk. “Are you unconvinced as to the severity of the attentions you might soon be forced to endure? Think well; consider your situation here.”

My companion—for so he still seemed to be, whether I wished it or not—had made a valid point. But it was one that was already uppermost in my thoughts. Even before the steam-powered transformation of British society, dire rumours of what some would term
enhanced interrogation techniques
had circulated through the general populace. Dreadful accounts were whispered of the zeal expressed by certain police specialists in getting information, confessions, whatever they desired, from those who wound up in cells exactly like the one in which I had found myself. A repeated application of a truncheon was the least I had to worry about.

“I alone,” continued Stonebrake, “can save you from that fate.”

“Save me?” His words made no sense. “You were the one who put me here.”

“Merely part of the—”

“Yes, yes, I know.” I raised a hand to prevent him from uttering further along those lines. “These diabolically unending plans of yours.” I wearily shook my head. “Would that I had never heard the slightest fragment of them.”

“Bear with me but a while longer, Dower, and you will be grateful that you did.”

“I rather doubt it. But at the moment, I again seem to have little choice about it.”

“Exactly so. Such is the beginning of wisdom on your part.” Stonebrake turned his attention away from me and toward the cell door. We both heard some ominously clanging noises, metal upon metal, echoing distantly through the corridor beyond. Upon darting there, he quickly glanced about in either direction outside the cell, then returned and sat down beside me on the bunk. “We have but a few moments. Listen carefully—”