“Well, the list of those who might want to do business with the Hulseys would likely be a long one. But only someone of talent would be attracted to Smith.”
She nodded. “Because only a person of talent would find the crystals useful.”
“Yes.”
“I would like you to view the dreamprints of the person who tried to murder Jed last night. That will confirm that we are dealing with the same man who tried to kidnap you thirteen years ago.”
“Very well, although I am sure the prints will belong to the man I knew as Smith.”
“I don’t doubt it. But I want to be certain.”
“I understand,” she said.
“I would also like you to look at the prints around Thacker’s body.”
“Of course,” she said. She paused. “Griffin, there is one thing I do not understand about last night.”
“What is that?”
She wrapped her arms around her knees. “It is obvious that Smith intended to kidnap me. But what of the Burning Lamp? I’m no good to him without it. How did he intend to get his hands on the artifact?”
“Once Smith had you, he would most likely have tried to negotiate for the lamp.”
Everything inside her warmed gently. “You’d give up the lamp if you thought my life depended on it?”
“Without a second thought.”
“Oh, Griffin, I’m truly touched. I know how important the lamp is to you.”
“And then I’d slit the bastard’s throat.”
She groaned and rested her forehead on her knees. “Two birds with one lamp. Who says a crime lord can’t be a romantic at heart?”
ADELAIDE BATHED AND DRESSED in a fresh pair of trousers and a clean shirt that Mrs. Trevelyan had meticulously pressed. Before going down to breakfast she went to the room where Jed was sleeping. Leggett hovered on the opposite side of the bed. He noticed her in the doorway.
“Good morning, Mrs. Pyne,” he said. “You’re looking a good deal more fit now than you did last night and that’s a fact. When the Boss came through the door with you in his arms I swear, you looked just like one of those heroines in a sensation play. You know, the sort that is always fainting dead away from some terrible shock to the nerves.”
“How embarrassing.” She walked to the bed. “How is Jed?”
“Still asleep.”
“He’ll be fine,” she said. She touched Jed’s brow, trying not to wince when the churning waves of dreamlight whispered across her senses. “His temperature feels normal and although he’s dreaming, he’s not having any severe nightmares. The damage Smith did to his senses is healing.”
“You saved his life last night,” Leggett said. “He’s my best friend. We’ve been together since our days on the streets.”
“I understand,” she said.
“I just want you to know that if there’s ever anything I can do for you, anything at all, you only have to ask,” Leggett said earnestly. “I’m real good with a knife.”
That made twice in one morning that a man had offered to slit a throat for her.
She blinked back the moisture that had suddenly blurred her vision. “Thank you, Leggett. That is very sweet of you. I’ll remember that.”
42
ADELAIDE RAISED HER SENSES AND STUDIED THE PRINTS IN the alley. Decades of dreamlight tracks fluoresced on the rain- slick pavement but the most recent prints gave off disturbing currents of dark ultragreen and unwholesome ultraviolet.
“It was most certainly Smith,” she said. “I see his prints in my dreams. I know them well, even after all these years.”
Griffin looked toward the far end of the narrow alley. “He ran off in that direction last night. There was a vehicle waiting for him. I’m certain that I heard a hansom one street over.”
“He is . . . not entirely sane, Griffin. I can see the taint of madness. It is much stronger now than it was all those years ago.”
“A powerful talent who is armed with a crystal that enables him to commit murder and who is going mad. That has to be J-and-J’s worst nightmare.”
“Do you really think Smith is a member of the Society?”
“There is so much that is explained if one accepts that assumption. Let us see what you can tell us about the murdered informant.”
They walked out of the alley and headed down the street. Delbert and three other enforcers fanned out around Adelaide.
Griffin led the way into the small courtyard. The body was gone.
“A shopkeeper or a street lad probably found Thacker this morning and summoned the authorities,” Griffin said. “It doesn’t matter. We are only concerned with dreamprints.”
“Dear heaven,” Adelaide whispered. She stared at the wet pavement, unable to believe what she was seeing. “I know these prints, Griffin. I recognize them.”
He frowned. “Are you going to tell me that it was Smith, after all?”
“No, not Smith.” She looked up. “But I have most certainly seen this killer’s prints somewhere else.”
“Where?”
“In the house where your parents died. Whoever killed Thacker murdered your mother and father.”
“Luttrell,” Griffin said. “Son of a bitch. Should have killed him years ago.”
43
“THE TIMING FITS,” GRIFFIN SAID. “LUTTRELL WAS WORKING for Quinton during those years, a young man on the way up in the organization. Luttrell was two or three years older than me, probably eighteen or nineteen. He already had a fierce reputation on the streets.”
They were sitting on the green wrought-iron bench in the Abbey garden, the dogs dozing at their feet. Adelaide was growing increasingly concerned about Griffin. It seemed to her that he was sinking so deeply into the shadows that she might never be able to pull him back out into the light.
And just what was she thinking, anyway? The man was a crime lord. One did not go around trying to rescue such people.
“Why would Luttrell murder your parents and steal the Burning Lamp?” she asked. “How could he have even known about the artifact, come to that? He grew up on the streets, not within the Arcane Society.”
“I told you, he possesses some kind of powerful psychical ability. Any strong talent who got close to the lamp would no doubt sense something of its paranormal nature and be intrigued.”
“I cannot believe that Luttrell just happened across the lamp in the course of breaking into your parents’ house. That is simply too much of a coincidence. If Luttrell did steal it during a routine burglary, why didn’t he take your mother’s jewelry? You said the lamp was the only thing missing from the safe.”
“There is no question but that he went there for the sole purpose of stealing the lamp. I told you, he was working for Quinton in those days. So Quinton must have given him the order to obtain the artifact.”
“Was Quinton a talent of some kind?” she asked.
“No, I don’t think so. He was endowed with the kind of primitive intuition that allowed him to stay alive on the streets. In addition, he possessed the raw intelligence and the streak of ruthlessness required to build a strong organization. But I never heard any rumors that would have made me think he was a talent.”
“So the question then becomes, how could Quinton have known about the lamp and, if he was not a talent himself, why would he have sent Luttrell to steal it?”
“I can’t be absolutely certain but I can concoct an interesting little play that would explain a great deal.”
“Tell me the story,” she said.
“Act One opens twenty years ago. Our mysterious Mr. Smith, who is likely a member of Arcane, is aware of the legend of the Burning Lamp. He knows something of crystals and therefore thinks that he can access the artifact’s power. He also knows that the lamp is probably in the hands of the descendants of Nicholas Winters. But he has no experience with the sort of criminal skills required to steal the artifact and he doesn’t dare take the risk of trying to rob a respectable gentleman’s house. He requires professional a
ssistance.”
“Go on.”
“He makes a few inquiries and discovers the name of the most powerful crime lord in London.”
She looked at him. “Would that have been hard to do?”
“No. Quinton was notorious. Owned half the brothels in the city, not to mention three-quarters of the opium dens. The police could not touch him but they certainly knew who he was.”
“All right, so Smith somehow gets word to Quinton that he wishes to hire a thief.”
Griffin massaged his injured left shoulder in an absent manner.
“Quinton was a very wealthy man,” he said. “He would not have been interested in Smith’s money. What’s more, he was a cautious man. He would not have liked the idea of sending one of his enforcers to break into the household of a prominent investor simply to obtain an antiquity.”
“Something must have convinced Quinton that stealing the lamp for Smith was worth the risk.”
“Quinton might well have been intrigued by the notion of controlling a member of the Arcane Society, especially if Smith moved at the higher levels of the organization.” Griffin stopped massaging his shoulder. He leaned forward and rested his forearms on his thighs. “Obtaining the lamp for Smith would have given Quinton a powerful hold over him.”
“So Quinton agreed to the bargain.”
“He sent his top enforcer, Luttrell, to carry out the task.”
The utter lack of emotion in Griffin’s words frightened Adelaide more than any scowl or bunched fist.
“Assuming that is the way it happened,” she said gently, “Luttrell would have given the lamp to his employer.”
“Who, in turn, would have handed it over to Smith. But Smith was unable to work the artifact. He must have discovered that at least one aspect of the legend was true. He required the services of a strong dreamlight reader. Which brings us to Act Two: It took him six more years to find you.”
“But by then my parents were dead and I had gone into an orphanage,” Adelaide said.
Griffin turned his head to look at her. “I do not think it was any coincidence that your parents died shortly after they registered the nature of your talent with the officials of the Society.”
For a few heartbeats she could not comprehend what he was saying. When understanding did dawn, she felt oddly light-headed with the shock of it all. Her stomach roiled. For a moment she wondered if she was actually about to faint.
“Are you saying that Smith identified me as a dreamlight talent using the Arcane records and then arranged the death of my parents?” she whispered.
“I think it likely, yes. He had to get your family out of the way. How else could he hope to get his hands on you?”
“Do you think he went back to Quinton to commission the murder of my mother and father?”
“Yes.”
She shivered. “But I was sent to an orphanage after they were killed.”
“Not for long. I’ll wager Smith arranged for you to end up in that brothel. He made another bargain with Quinton.”
Her hands ached. She looked down and saw that her fingers were so tightly clenched together her knuckles had gone white.
“But at the last minute, when Smith came to test me, as he put it, the brothel keeper told him that he could not have me,” she said.
“Something happened that night that made Quinton change his mind about selling you to Smith,” Griffin said. “Perhaps he discovered that you were worth more to someone else.”
“I don’t see how that could be. I’m no good to any of these people without the lamp. And Smith was the one with the artifact.”
“There is another possibility,” Griffin said slowly. “Do you remember the exact date that Smith showed up at the brothel?”
“As if I could ever forget.” She shuddered. “It will have been thirteen years ago, come the third of next month. I was on a ship bound for America three days later.”
Griffin nodded slightly, evidently satisfied.
“That, too, fits,” he said.
“What do you mean?”
“Quinton died a week earlier that same year. That was when those in my world woke up to discover that his organization had been taken over by his most trusted enforcer.”
“Luttrell.”
“Yes. Luttrell was very busy trying to gain control of his new empire during those first days and weeks.”
“In other words, he might not have discovered the arrangement that his old employer had made with Smith until the very last minute?” she asked.
“Yes.”
“I think you’re right. I remember that when the brothel manager came back to the room she informed Smith that the establishment was under new management.”
“Luttrell would most certainly have wanted to renegotiate the terms of the bargain that Smith and Quinton had made.”
Griffin fell silent. Adelaide waited a moment.
“Well?” she said finally. “What do we do now?”
“Nothing has changed in this equation,” Griffin said. “I know how to hunt in my world. I will deal with Luttrell. But if I’m right in concluding that Smith is a member of Arcane, Jones and Jones is better positioned to identify him.”
Boots crunched on the gravel path behind Adelaide. She turned her head and saw Delbert approaching.
“Sorry to interrupt, Boss.” Delbert stopped in front of the bench. “Leggett just got back from talking to Thacker’s old pals at what used to be his favorite tavern.”
Griffin straightened. “Any news?”
“Thacker was one of Luttrell’s men, all right. A few weeks ago he was given what all of his friends considered a very comfortable assignment. He was running errands for a couple of scientists Luttrell has tucked away in Hidden Moon Lane.”
Griffin was already on his feet, heading toward the house. “Get the carriage ready.”
“Jed is bringing it around now, Boss.”
Adelaide rose quickly. “You’re going to Hidden Moon Lane?”
Griffin glanced back over his shoulder. “It may already be too late.”
She hurried after him. “I’m coming with you.”
“Yes, of course,” he said. “I have discovered the hard way last night that I cannot let you out of my sight.”
44
HIDDEN MOON LANE MIGHT AS WELL HAVE BEEN NAMED HIDDEN Sun Lane, Griffin thought, especially when the fog was as thick as it was that afternoon. The buildings were crowded so close together that the narrow strip of pavement was trapped in perpetual twilight. There were no signs of life. The windows of the looming structures were closed and shuttered.
He stood in the small park with Adelaide and Delbert and surveyed the tiny street from its far end while Jed and the carriage waited nearby.
“It looks like just the sort of neighborhood where one could conceal a couple of rogue chemists and a secret laboratory,” Adelaide offered.
“It does,” Griffin agreed.
“There will probably be guards,” Delbert warned.
“I don’t think so,” Griffin said.
Adelaide looked at him. “What makes you say that?”
“Because I suspect that Luttrell has already abandoned the operation. He must have known that it wouldn’t take me long to discover Thacker’s identity and trace his comings and goings to this address. But with luck he will not have bothered to inform Hulsey and Son that he no longer requires their services. There is a possibility, at least, that they are still on the premises.”
“You believe Luttrell would simply abandon them to their fate?” Adelaide asked. “But we have concluded that they are valuable to him.”
“It’s called cutting one’s losses,” Griffin said. “I suppose it’s possible that Luttrell took the time to kill the Hulseys, but I’m inclined to doubt it.”
“Why wouldn’t he get rid of them?” Delbert asked. “Seems like the sensible thing to do.”
“Because they constitute a very convenient distraction. Luttrell knows that Arcane is hunting t
hem. Makes sense to let J-and-J focus its attention on the Hulseys rather than on him. I doubt if Luttrell is eager to tangle with Arcane.”
“Assuming the Hulseys are still alive,” Adelaide said, “what are we going to do with them?”
“Turn them over to J-and-J. The Hulseys are a problem for Arcane, not me. All I want from them is information.”
“Are we all going in together?” Delbert asked. “Bit of a crowd, don’t you think?”
Griffin looked at him. “You will stay here with Mrs. Pyne. I’ll go in and take a quick look around. If I don’t return within fifteen minutes you know what to do.”
“One moment if you please,” Adelaide said coolly. “No one told me there was a contingency plan. What is it?”
“If I don’t come back Delbert and Jed will see to it that you are escorted immediately to Caleb Jones’s house. Jones will protect you.”
“You said you weren’t going to let me out of your sight,” Adelaide said uneasily. “I think I should go with you. My talent could prove useful.”
“I can conceal myself, but not someone else,” he explained. “You will stay here with Delbert.”
He knew she was going to launch into another argument so he pulled the shadows around himself, effectively disappearing. He started down the lane.
“It is so annoying when he does that,” Adelaide said behind him.
“You get accustomed to it,” Delbert said.
HE PRIED OPEN THE WINDOW on the upper floor and moved soundlessly into the darkened room. The lessons of his youth had not been wasted, he thought with some satisfaction. He still had the skills that had made him a legendary second-story man in his teens. His motto in those days had been simple: Never go in through the ground floor. If there’s a trap or an alarm, that’s where it will be set.
There was an air of emptiness about the room in which he stood, as if no one had lived there in a very long time. He took a moment to secure one end of a length of rope to the heavy bed frame. Then he crossed to the door and looked out into a long, narrow hall.