Authors: C.S. Quinn
Chapter Seventy-Five
‘I know someone is in here,’ Malvern’s voice rumbled through the nave. At the low sound of it the thudding at the door seemed to grow more urgent, echoing around the church. ‘I heard you both talking.’
The voice stopped and for a moment only the knocking could he heard. ‘And he is in here still,’ said Malvern.
Still crouched on the floor Charlie felt a blow from Maria’s foot and moved away from her back towards the front of the church. He was still concealed by the tomb, but it wouldn’t take Malvern long to find him.
He had been right about Malvern’s identity, he realised. The familiar voice had confirmed it.
Heavy footsteps and the rustle of a canvas cloak sounded.
Charlie’s gaze fell on the heavy oak door. It was still vibrating under the assault from outside. The middle was splintering, and before he knew what this meant, it happened.
The door smashed away and a torrent of people lurched into the church. Shattered veins at their necks and faces gave them an undead colouring as if they had crawled up from the nearby graves.
They limped on gangrenous feet with writhing black fingers. But there was hope on their faces. They had come for a holy man to bring them comfort, and they staggered forward in vain search of him.
In the confusion Charlie rose to his feet, covered his mouth and ran for the entrance. He brushed against stiff buboils and ulcerated limbs as he ran, but the crowd hardly seemed to notice him in their desperation to find sanctuary in the church.
Charlie turned to see Malvern in his plague-doctor outfit, wheeling around in shock as the diseased ran towards him. And then he vanished behind the tumult. Maria was nowhere to be seen.
Bursting out into the moonlit graveyard Charlie made for the open grave. He heard the pigeons before he saw them. Maria must have ducked back down behind the tomb, he decided, and he could only hope she would stay safe long enough for him to somehow get the better of Malvern. Then he would take her for treatment. There must be something. They would comb the city for it and find a cure.
The cooing birds guided him to the cage. His fingers closed on the door, seeking out the catch.
A voice came from behind.
‘You look a great deal like your mother.’
Charlie turned.
‘I have hunted for years for what she stole from me,’ continued Malvern. ‘And now I have finally found you out. For I know she must have hid my secret with one of her sons.’
He had brought out the struggling Maria and threw her to the ground as he spoke.
Charlie moved towards her but Malvern drew his sword in warning.
The mask cocked to the side. ‘She concealed you both so cleverly that I never found you or your brother. Though I searched the London slums daily.’
Malvern’s eyes settled on the key around Charlie’s neck.
A low laugh came from under his mask.
‘So that is where she hides it. In my own chest. Very clever. But all is done now. Give me the key.’
Charlie’s hand closed on the key.
‘Give it to me. And I shall tell you where your mother is.’
‘My mother is dead.’ It was a wrench to say the words.
‘Know you that for certain? Would you not know for sure? I will not lie to you boy. I will tell you exactly where she is.’
A deep yearning surged through Charlie.
‘You must have wanted to know all your life,’ said Malvern. ‘You must always have wondered. Now is your chance to find out the truth, once and for all.’
‘She is dead,’ said Charlie. ‘If my mother were living she would have come back for us.’
‘Your faith is very touching boy. What if you are wrong? What if this is your last and only chance to discover her?’
‘I . . . I do not believe it that she still lives.’
‘Yet you sound so uncertain. Do not lose this opportunity Charlie Oakley. If your mother lives and you may yet find her it would be very sad not to seek out the right facts.’
‘I will not stand by whilst you ruin the country,’ said Charlie.
‘Has this King done so much for you? Your foolish monarch had me in London’s employ, sending false reports of his mistresses to the Mayor under his very nose.’
Blackstone paused to judge the effect of his words.
‘It is only the key I want,’ he continued, his tone shifting. ‘I will allow you to live.’ He looked down at Maria. ‘Both of you. You will know at last for certain,’ Malvern’s voice had dropped to a whisper. ‘Where your mother is.’
‘No!’ He heard Maria’s shout from where she had been thrown to the floor, but he could not bring himself to look at her.
‘You have my word boy. I will tell you all.’ Malvern was tensed. ‘You cannot win.’
Charlie’s eyes flicked to Maria and back again. His hand moved to rest on the key.
‘Give it to me.’ Malvern’s gloved claw writhed impatiently.
‘He will never give it over!’ Maria’s faith in him was unexpected. Charlie turned to look at her.
‘You would not let him win,’ she said.
Charlie looked from her face back to Malvern. His hand retreated away from the key.
‘I will not give it to you,’ he said. ‘I would rather die than betray my mother’s memory.’
A low growl came from behind Malvern’s mask. With lightning speed he darted forward, grabbing Maria’s blonde hair. He moved the sharp blade of his sword beneath her throat.
‘Very well then boy. Since you are without sentiment for your own mother, perhaps this girl is worth something more to you.’
Maria was shaking her head. ‘Do not give it Charlie. I am dead in any case. You will gain nothing by playing to his plans.’
‘Well then,’ said Malvern. ‘If you would see her blood spilled, so be it.’ With practised calm he began to draw the sword.
‘No!’ said Charlie.
Maria gasped.
‘Hold! Please! I will give it to you.’
Malvern looked up from his task. The blade held still. ‘Well then?’
Charlie fumbled for the key.
‘Charlie! No!’
Ignoring her he tossed it to the floor near Malvern’s feet.
Malvern let Maria fall to the ground and snatched it up.
Charlie
stepped towards her but Malvern held out his sword in warning.
‘Come no closer.’ Malvern’s eyes glittered and his voice lost all of its previous persuasiveness.
‘Your mother stole from me and I strangled her. It was not until later, of course, that I realised she hid my secrets. I thought her sons would have the answer but could never find you out.’
‘She put us safe,’ said Charlie. ‘At the Foundling Hospital.’
‘Such is maternal love,’ said Malvern.
Charlie stared into the crystal goggles and Malvern’s mask tilted back, assessing the man before him.
‘See we are not so different you and I,’ he said. ‘If I told you what the soldiers did to my mother it would sicken you to your stomach. In comparison Sally Oakley had a merciful end. So we are the same, Charlie Oakley, in our malice at least.’
Their eyes locked.
‘Perhaps in our malice we are,’ said Charlie. He felt cold
everywhere
.
Part of him had always known that his mother must be dead. But something inside of him had broken and in its place an empty leaden despair rushed in. He wanted to crawl away and turn the hurt around in his mind. The anger which swam in the background of his life now had a firm direction. Thomas Malvern. Its intensity frightened him.
The only possibility for revenge stood close. The birdcage. He could set free the messengers and wreck Malvern’s plans.
He inched closer towards the caged birds, mentally calculating the fastest way to free them.
Malvern took a step towards him. ‘Do not imagine I am so foolish that I do not see what you do,’ he said. ‘I will sever your arm from your body before I allow you to release those birds.’
A sudden noise caused them both to turn. It was Maria. She had staggered to her feet and was walking towards Malvern.
As she moved into a shaft of moonlight the rash of veins on her neck and face came into stark relief. Her breathing was ragged and laboured.
Despite the protection of his plague-doctor costume Malvern stepped back uncertainly. His gloved hands fumbled to aim the
pistol
, but Maria was on him before he could fire. Reaching up with her bound hands she pulled away his mask. Malvern’s disguise fell away, revealing the blue eyes, the black hair.
The mouth gaped in shock as Maria spat in his eye.
Beneath the hood was the Mayor’s aide. Thomas Blackstone.
Chapter Seventy-Six
Blackstone fell down, clawing to wipe his face, and Maria turned to Charlie.
‘Now!’ she shouted. ‘Set free the birds.’
Faltering in the unexpectedness of the moment Charlie paused for a second, and then he dived towards the cage and unhooked
the catch
.
A gunshot followed a moment later, causing the birds inside to tunnel out in alarm.
They swarmed up in a great mass of feathers and up into
t
he sky.
‘No!’ Blackstone ran at the escaping birds, but they were too quick for him. Like a great grey cloud they winged away in one mass, far into the night.
Charlie looked back to where Maria had been.
She was no longer standing, but had fallen back. A plume of red was spreading out across her white shift. He ran to where she was.
‘It was a mercy Charlie,’ she said, as he tumbled to the ground beside her. ‘I would rather go this way than the other.’
Behind him he heard Blackstone race to the open cage and pull frantically at it, searching for any remaining occupants.
He let out a sudden howl of elation and Charlie turned with a sinking heart. A flutter of wings confirmed his fears. One
single
pigeon was huddled in the back of the cage, too terrified to take flight. Blackstone slammed the little door closed, securing the bird.
Maria’s hand slid from Charlie’s. He saw the blood pumping from her chest slow and then stop.
‘No.’
He turned her head up to face him, but the deeper he stared into her eyes the further she went. As Maria slipped away from him memories of her clustered thickly in his mind. But then there were images of his orphaned childhood in the Foundling Home.
Watching
his brother grow thinner by the day and of dead children in the bed.
‘Please Maria.’
He thought he saw something. A final glimmer. Then her eyes closed and she was gone. Only his black anger remained.
He stood to face Blackstone and the words came choking out.
‘You murdered my mother.’
The swell of his fury was so immense his words came out
in gasps.
Charlie strode towards Blackstone.
Recognising the expression from the battlefield Blackstone’s face set itself. He drew his sword. ‘Do not think that a thousand such have not run at me in war,’ he said. But something of his
earlier
confidence had waned just a little.
‘Eight years, my brother and I starved as orphans,’ said Charlie.
Without breaking his stride he picked up a branch from the ground and hefted it.
Blackstone swung his sword easily to use the handle for a club.
They neared each other, the barefooted stick-wielder and the armed Cavalier. Then Charlie struck out in a wave of fury.
The stick came down and Blackstone staggered back. Then he heaved the full weight of the sword hilt.
Charlie moved only just in time. The sword missed his skull but connected with full force into his shoulder.
He felt his shoulder wrench free from the socket and his body lift from the ground. The blow threw him several feet and he landed heavily in the open plague grave.
Blackstone’s smile flickered for a moment. With the calculation of an experienced soldier he looked down to check his opponent was no longer a threat and then he walked to where his pigeons were held.
He removed the last cooing occupant and, stroking her head tenderly, attached a message to the leg.
‘This goes to the Palace,’ he said, ‘and announces from the Mayor where plague spreads to in the City. Once that is done every wealthy gaming house in London will spread my counterfeit coins.’
Blackstone threw his hands apart and watched the pigeon wing up unsteadily into the air.
Charlie watched it with a sinking heart.
Returning to the open grave Blackstone leaned over. ‘You see now the thing is done,’ he explained. ‘The message is sent and the King will soon realise the price of his betrayal.’
Charlie became aware of a new sensation. Something was digging into his back. It was the rabbit gun.
He had forgotten that he had left it in the grave, earlier.
Painstakingly Charlie worked his hand underneath until his fingers closed around the weapon. He could not kill Blackstone, he knew. But he could hurt him. Injure him. The thought brought a bitter sort of strength.
Blackstone blinked suddenly, realising he was looking into the barrel of the gun. He suppressed a smile. Perhaps the boy carried the weapon as a boast. But he knew nothing about arms. He held a rabbit gun. Likely it would not even fire in the damp air.
Above them the white belly of the pigeon winged away into the sky. And Malvern knew his plans were unassailable.
‘Then kill me,’ he said, playing to the boy’s ignorance. ‘Have your revenge. We are the same you and I. Both of us were betrayed and made orphans. Both of us seek revenge on those who have wronged us.’
Charlie couldn’t see Maria’s body, but an image of her face came to him. Instead of the white fright of her dying, the features were calm. Some of his anger abated.
Blackstone caught the emotion. It was too ridiculous. The boy was afraid to pull the trigger. Given the chance to avenge himself on the man who had killed his mother he was now uncertain. This was why the uprising would succeed. Because men like himself would not falter.
‘Your mother would have not liked to see her son so weak,’ he said, making to walk from the grave. He caught a glimpse of
Charlie’s
expression hardening and paused for a moment. Perhaps the boy really would chance his immortal soul by attempting to commit murder. And it would be worth watching his face when the gun didn’t work as he hoped.
From the depths of the grave Charlie felt the monster inside him stir.
‘You may think me weak, but I am stronger than you,’ he said.
Blackstone gave a cold smile. ‘You do not know what strength is. You Protestants think yourselves strong in number, but that is nothing to a man prepared to defend his religion with his life.’
‘It is not to do with numbers or force,’ said Charlie. ‘I am stronger than you because I do not need revenge.’
And he pulled the trigger.