Finn s.n.a.t.c.hed the flying key, left Clara with Miss Bracken again, and opened the lock as quickly as he could, then yanked the bar out of its place, snapped open the Chubb lock, and flung back the door onto blessed daylight. He stepped aside so that Miss Bracken could haul Clara out past him. From the corner of his eye Finn saw Beaumont coming back toward him. Behind the dwarf a man pushed himself to his feet, a b.l.o.o.d.y gash on his chin.

Now there were three more men four coming on hard behind, pouring into the hallway in a rout. "Out! Out!" Beaumont shouted, pushing Finn from behind, and out they went, Beaumont pulling the door shut. Finn heard the Chubb lock engage with a metallic clank. He also heard Mrs. Bracken wheezing to catch her breath, Clara holding tightly to her; neither was moving. Then Finn saw a man, very heavy and powerful, step half out of the bushes several yards along the alley. He stood waiting in the shadows, holding a cudgel the end of things, Finn thought.

Except that it wasn't the end of things. It was Tubby Frobisher, like an angel come from the sky. "Tubby!" Finn shouted, following Miss Bracken down the three stairs, Beaumont at his heels.

Tubby stepped aside and waved them past, the surprise on his face equal, surely, to Finn's own. "Go on, then!" Tubby cried.

Finn looked back to see Tubby wading toward the men just then coming through the door, a two-handed grip on his stick.

It was an escape, and no doubt about it, Tubby thought as he stepped aside to let the four pa.s.s, immensely surprised that it was Cecilia Bracken who leapt past him, her hatless hair flying about her head, and she holding the hand of an apparently blind girl wearing smoked gla.s.ses certainly the girl Clara, Mother Laswell's charge. Finn Conrad plunged past, followed by the strangest dwarf Tubby had ever seen. He was carrying a flour sack in one hand and holding tight to an enormous beaver hat with the other, a hat big enough to contain a severed head as well as the dwarf's own.

Four men bowled out from within the house now, two of them turning away up toward Lazarus Walk and the other two running straight at Tubby, obviously pursuing those who had fled. The men slowed at the sight of him, but then came on again, running hard.

THIRTY-THREE.

FLIGHT.

Finn and his three companions rounded the corner, Clara running flat-footed but gamely in her lead-soled shoes, her gown hiked up to her knees. Finn held onto her hand now, and she showed no hesitation, but trusted him utterly. Beaumont had run on ahead, but Finn, determined to leave no one behind, had no intention of outpacing Miss Bracken. They dodged the traffic and pedestrians on the Embankment, hurried beneath the leafless trees, and descended a set of stone stairs to the river, where a man in a rowing boat was just shipping his oars as another man stepped out onto a small pier and tied a line to a bollard. Finn tipped his cap, and the two men nodded back at him, giving him a curious look. The four of them were well worth staring at, Finn thought, which was problematic.

Beaumont led the way beneath Blackfriars Rail Bridge, turning uphill in the shadow of the bridge toward the Embankment again. He drew to a halt between two heavy stanchions, further hidden by the darkness. For a time no one spoke, but merely breathed. Miss Bracken bent forward and placed her hands on her knees, her wind whooshing in and out of her lungs. The mud bank smell of the Thames was strong, and in the gloomy half-light Finn could see the rubbish cast up by the river. Despite the dimness, Finn felt exposed. They were a curious group, to be sure, with no possibility of disguising themselves.

The problem of Ned Ludd sprang into Finn's mind a further complication. He wished that he had included Ned's whereabouts in the note that he had heaved at Mother Laswell. If worse came to worst, she could fetch Ned herself. But it hadn't come to that yet. The George Inn wasn't far away, although how they were going to get there without imperiling themselves, Finn couldn't say. The afternoon was already darkening, however, with clouds in the west hiding the sun. With luck, night would come early.

"Dear me," Miss Bracken said after her bout of hard breathing, "I believe I'll live after all. If we intend to hide beneath this bridge for any length of time, we might as well make ourselves better known to each other."

"This is Miss Clara," Finn said, thinking that it was unlikely that Clara would speak for herself, although he was equally worried about being too forward. Clara curtsied but said nothing, and he went on: "I'm Finn Conrad, and we both of us come from Aylesford."

"And you knew Tubby Frobisher, the fat man in the lane?" she said.

"Yes," said Finn. "Do you, too, then?"

"Indeed I do. I'm betrothed to that man's uncle."

"To Gilbert Frobisher?" Finn asked, astonished to hear this.

"Indeed. The poor man is lost below ground."

"He might still be alive," Beaumont said. "We found the newspaper what wrapped his sandwich, if it was his and not the other's Professor St. Ives."

A train clattered along overhead now, making speaking impossible for a time. Boats spun past beneath the bridge, the river running fast and high through the narrows.

"I know nothing of a sandwich," said Miss Bracken when the train moved on. "Gilbert and the Professor descended together. Neither returned. But I won't say that either of them is lost until there's proof. Show me the body. I shall say just those words until my dying day. And what is your name, my small friend?"

"Beaumont the Dwarf, ma'am, although some call me Zounds."

"How did you come to be in the house?" Finn asked Miss Bracken.

"I was taken off the street by the villain Smythe, who tricked me with a falsehood. I should have seen through him, for I've met his type often enough. But I very much wanted to believe he was doing me a kindness. My heart got in the way of my sense, I'm afraid."

"Aye, that's the way with hearts," Beaumont said. "Smythe won't bother you again. The worms already have him by the toe. Now that we're all mates I'll say that we must lie low until after dark and then go back the way we've come. It's dangerous above ground with Klingheimer's men looking out for us. They've got urchin boys, you see, who they'll put to the search for a shilling or two. The sooner we're down below, the better."

"We mean to go underground to Aylesford," Finn said, by way of explanation, although he scarcely understood it himself.

"Where my own Gilbert disappeared?" Miss Bracken asked.

"Just so," Beaumont told her.

"That's good. That's very good. We'll search for him. We'll find my Gilbert and bring him out with us. That's just what we'll do."

"When it's dark we can go below," Beaumont said. "I know a way. But for now we've got to lay up somewhere out of the way like."

"Before we go under we've got to fetch Ned Ludd, Clara's mule," Finn said. "I rode into London on his back, and I won't leave him behind. I made him a promise. We'll take him along below with us."

"A mule?" Beaumont asked.

"Yes," said Finn. "He's in Southwark, at the George Inn. Close by." Clara squeezed his hand, for which Finn was thankful.

Beaumont stood contemplating and then said, "The mule might be the death of us."

"Or the life of us," Finn said. "He can carry two of us if the way below is hard. And the mule speaks to Clara. Ned Ludd is more alive than the heads on the plates, and he's a Christian mule. It was Balaam's donkey that spoke out loud when the Angel of the Lord was blocking the way, and he was let into heaven for it."

Beaumont considered this. "My uncle had a mule as could ring the Pancake Bell upon Shrove Tuesday," he said. "We give him a pan of grease for it."

"There you have it then," Miss Bracken said. "You can't argue with the pancake bell."

"Then we'll cross the river in the boat these two men just left a-lying there," Beaumont said. "But coming back to this side, even after night fall?" He shook his head. "And leading a mule? It won't hardly answer."

"Shush," Clara said suddenly, and Beaumont fell quiet. There were footsteps approaching, and the four of them moved farther up the shingle, deeper into the shadows. A man appeared, stepping out of the sunlight and into the darkness beneath the bridge, and then standing still while his eyes found their way. Finn let go of Clara's hand, ready to fight if he had to. If he was quick, he could rush the man and knock him into the river where it ran swiftly beneath the arch. The current would sweep him downriver long enough for them to run. The man looked roundabout himself carefully, seeing them now.

"Zounds!" he said, bending over to look harder at them. "Here you are then, with the boy and the women, a-standing about like statuary. It's your infernal hat that caught my eye, Zounds. A man can't hide in such a rig as that. They're a-looking for you up and down. They found Penny and Smythe beaten and choked out, and they think it's you what done it. Klingheimer will murder the lot of us for letting it happen when he comes back from Peavy's."

"This here is Arthur Bates," Beaumont said, gesturing in the man's direction. "I'm glad it's you, Bates. You'll not give us up. Klingheimer can go to the devil, and Peavy with him."

"That's right. But the word's gone out for a reward if you're taken, Zounds, so every boy in the street is looking out. London Bridge ain't safe, nor Queen Street nor Blackfriars neither. Shadwell knows the girl's from Aylesford, and they're watching the roads east."

"What of the house where they've been a-digging?" Beaumont asked. "Near Temple. You know the one, mayhaps, though they kept it from me."

"Nothing. What of it?"

"Is there a lookout, I mean."

"Not that I know. But I ain't been there, Zounds, not recent. Why would they watch it?"

"It ain't why would they watch it, Bates; it's if they ain't a-watching it."

"Well they mayn't be is as good as I can say. I've got to be on my way now. I won't peach on you, Zounds, but that hat..." He shook his head.

"He is quite correct," Miss Bracken said. "This disreputable hat doesn't show your features to advantage. Not at all. You're not a man who is difficult to look at when you haven't got this egg upon your head."

Beaumont blinked at her, apparently having nothing to say to this.

"And you, Mr. Bates," Miss Bracken said. "Won't you quit that dreadful place? You don't belong in that house, a good man like you."

"I'm owed nigh onto twenty pound, ma'am, and I mean to have it before I scarper," Bates said, nodding a goodbye to them while already walking away.

They watched him out of sight and then turned toward the boat the sooner across the river the better. The men who had arrived in it were nowhere to be seen. They were well heeled, it seemed to Finn, and could afford to lose their little boat, if that was what came of their borrowing it. Beaumont went straight to it and untied the dock line as if the boat were his. They climbed in, and within moments were skimming along downriver on the tide, Beaumont pulling hard and steadily through the shipping toward the opposite sh.o.r.e, all of them looking studiously at the water that sloshed across the planking in the bottom.

Tubby stepped aside as he had been commanded to do, his back in the shrubbery, gripping his stick with both hands. As the first man rushed past, he swung the knurled end into the man's face, a vicious, chopping blow that caught him on the bridge of his nose. His head flew back, and he fell into the arms of the second man, whose eyes shot open in surprise. Tubby's bowler flew off as he speared the stick over the head of the first man, throwing his considerable weight into the blow and ramming the bra.s.s tip into the second man's forehead, the two men falling in a heap together.

It came to Tubby that he might have killed the man with the broken nose, and in fact he appeared to have no nose at all, just a b.l.o.o.d.y pulp where it had been. It was time to retreat, perhaps. The second man tried to roll clear of his companion, however, and Tubby had no choice but to hit him a second time, catching him on the shoulder, and in that moment, yet another man, dressed in an ap.r.o.n, issued from the door carrying a bent iron poker. Without a second's pause the new man saw what was what and pitched the poker hard at Tubby, who had time to turn his face aside and throw an arm up. He felt it carve a deep furrow over his ear, although he sensed no pain at all. His man was weaponless now, and so Tubby roared at him, gripping his stick and swinging it back over his shoulder just enough room in the alley for a roundhouse blow. But his adversary was having none of it. He turned around and jumped back in through the open door, Tubby at his heels.

Tubby stopped himself at the threshold, however, and shouted, "Tell your master that Tubby Frobisher has come for him!"

There was an answering shout from nearby: "The pistol, Mrs. Skink!" and Tubby made away down the alley at a heavy run, s.n.a.t.c.hing up his bowler and heading toward the Embankment. He had no desire to face down a man with a pistol in a narrow alley, and it occurred to him that with every pa.s.sing moment there was more of a chance that his way would be blocked by the two men who had gone out into the street and might easily have come around behind, searching for Finn and his lot.

He felt his own blood running freely down his neck, seeping in under his collar. He probed the patch of scalp that hung loose, gingerly pressing it closed before placing the brim of his bowler along the wound and then painfully tugging the hat down until it secured the injury perhaps the first hat-band bandage on record. He came out at Temple Avenue, seeing the open cistern that had stood there for a decade and hurrying down toward it, blessing the Cattle Trough a.s.sociation for putting it there. The gray water was floating with horsehair, but he swept it clear and splashed it onto his neck by the handful, wiping the blood away, rinsing his hand in the trough and swabbing it again. Clean enough, he thought, heading down toward the cab-stand at King's Bench.

"Half Toad, Smithfield!" he said to the cabby, and he slumped gratefully onto the seat and closed the door against the wind that blew cold against his wet clothing. Two of Klingheimer's men trotted past, the one's blue shirt giving him away as one of the first two that had come out through the door. Good they were still searching. Tubby slumped lower in the seat, holding tightly to his cudgel, coming up again when his coach had rounded the corner and was moving away at a fair pace.

The afternoon was wearing on, and he wondered whether his companions were gone from the Half Toad, and whether they would have left him a message. He had stirred up a hornet's nest for certain, against Alice and Hasbro's wishes, not to mention being truant from the dinner meeting. But there was virtue in it. He had forestalled whatever fate had lain in store for Finn Conrad and his odd companions, and he knew beyond doubt that Finn and Clara were safe, at least for the moment.

The wound on the side of his head throbbed, the pain pulsing from temple to temple, but the bleeding had stopped, his hat-band doing its job. He thought about his luck three against one, and he had lain out two of them and sent the third packing: a satisfactory rout. The coach headed up Old Bailey now, Newgate Prison off to the right, and within minutes Fingal Street and Lambert Court came into view ahead, and he saw the great wooden toad that looked out from over the door of the inn. A wave of relief swept through him, and it came to him that a roast chicken and a gla.s.s of beer would set him up admirably. Uncle Gilbert would scarcely deny him the pleasure.

THIRTY-FOUR.

THE CALM BEFORE.

"It's time, Finn. Pull in the anchor," Beaumont said, taking his pipe from his mouth and knocking the burning tobacco over the side. They sat in their borrowed rowing boat near the Bankside sh.o.r.e, with its tumbledown riverside buildings, the people picking their way across the mud that lay stinking along the water's edge, searching for whatever might have been left by the falling tide. The four in the boat had spent the past hour out of the wind on the lee side of a schooner that also sheltered them from the view from Southwark Bridge, mostly from people crossing from the Queen Street side, which meant Klingheimer's men. The schooner's bow shouldered the current around the rowing boat, making for an easy anchorage. Blackfriars Bridge lay upriver, distant enough so that they were safe from lookouts, unless the lookout had a telescope. Night was fast falling, however, and with it came a modic.u.m of safety, if they looked sharp and wasted no time.

Finn hauled in the anchor, the iron flukes dripping water on his shoes, while Beaumont was already pulling away. They moved along beneath Southwark Bridge toward London Bridge and the steps just beyond. When they were out of the shelter of the schooner, the wind grew sharp, but at least there was no rain falling from the heavy clouds. The ships riding at anchor in the Pool of London were dark silhouettes dotted with lamplight.

"I like your idea, Finn," Beaumont said. "It'll work. You trust the ostler, then, at the George?"

"He's a friend. I've known him from old."

"It seems bad luck to travel in a hea.r.s.e before one's time," Miss Bracken said.

"Worse luck to be caught on the bridge by Mr. Shadwell or one of his men," Beaumont told her. "They'll be quaking like a baby, thinking of Mr. Klingheimer asking for a reckoning, and they'll cop it for sure if we don't cop it first."

"I don't know the man Shadwell. Is he worse than Mr. Smythe?" Miss Bracken asked.

"Smythe is royalty compared to Shadwell. But Shadwell won't look twice at a hea.r.s.e, and he don't know your mule. We'll fox him yet."

The boat b.u.mped up against the stairs, and Finn tied it up tightly. He didn't hold with theft, but he held even less with being caught for theft. The boat was brightly painted, an odd green color that couldn't be mistaken, and was easily visible by anyone crossing the bridge in daylight. They climbed the steps, walking amidst the crowds crossing London Bridge. Beaumont went on ahead of them, being the most visible even though he was small. Finn and Clara followed, and Miss Bracken walked along behind, carrying Beaumont's hat as if it were a large purse.

Beaumont angled into the shadows alongside the darkened interior of the Borough Market now. Finn followed, looking back over his shoulder to see that Miss Bracken was still in sight. All were aware of their destination, although Miss Bracken, being new to London, knew it only by description, and Clara was blind, except for her sighted elbow, which was as useful in the dark as in full daylight. Still and all, Finn would rather die than drop her hand. There was St. Thomas Street opposite, and Beaumont crossing the High Street now, the George Inn just ahead. Finn listened for the shouting and the rush of feet that would herald their end, but there were none. He glanced back again, surprised to see Miss Bracken directly behind them now.

He put his arm through Clara's, holding tightly. They walked around into the courtyard its galleries lit, the fire burning in the center of the yard within its stone enclosure, and, to his vast relief, Arwyn holding a pair of black horses steady while two people climbed into the coach that the horses would pull.

Finn waved at him, Arwyn nodded, and within minutes they were within the shelter of the stables, Finn laying out his plan.

The Half Toad was quiet but for the sounds of supper preparations in the kitchen. The late afternoon lay gloomy and prematurely dark beyond the bullseye gla.s.s of the windows, where quavering images pa.s.sed up and down the Fingal Street pavement. "I can't stand the waiting," Bill Kraken said to Hasbro and Mother Laswell, the three of them sitting at their customary table, talking low so as not to be overheard. "I say we go a-looking for Tubby or go on to Peavy's without him."

"And two minutes after you'd gone out looking, he'd walk in through the door, and then someone would have to go out looking for you," Mother Laswell told him. "We've agreed to wait until the clock strikes four, twenty minutes from now."

Henrietta Billson came out of the kitchen just then with the dinner they'd put off because of Tubby's absence. She laid it out on the table next to Finn's Christmas pudding message. Dinner was a four-decker sea pie, with strata of mushrooms, onions, peas, carrots, and sage smothered with pork and chicken in gravy, each layer laid over with a crust of flour, steam ascending from blow-holes in the crusty brown top. There were no fish in the pie, despite its oceanic name.

Kraken squinted at the food. "My guts is pinched shut," he said. "I can't eat. The Professor's late by nigh on to two hours. Never was there a man more timely than the Professor. He said he'd send word if he weren't coming, but there ain't been no word, which there would be could he have sent it. Did they take the Professor, too, is what I'm asking."

"Just you try this pie, Mr. Kraken," Henrietta said. "You'll be happy for it an hour from now, and I'll hear nothing to the contrary. Food in the stomach is foundational. There can be no life without it." She took a vast wide spoon out of her ap.r.o.n and heaped pie onto their several plates.

In the middle of the heaping, the inn door opened and Tubby strode in, nodding at his companions and looking around at the other patrons, of which there were three a man and a woman near the fire and an old gentleman nodding over his newspaper.

Mother Laswell looked hard at Tubby, who was in a state of advanced gore. "G.o.d help us," she said when he arrived at the table.

"Sound as a bell, my friends," he said, patting his bowler gingerly. "My apologies for my tardiness. Give me a moment to wash up, and I'm your man."

"But what news, Tubby?" Kraken asked him.