The Devil's Workshop

“Did you look inside the case? I’ve added to it a bit. Two new picks and a handful of keys to fit some more recent locks.”

“Really? You know there are ways to reduce the number of tools you’ve got to carry around. You could get by with just three keys and a pick or two,” March said.

“You haven’t lost your interest, then? Since leaving the Yard?”

“On the contrary, I’ve become even more keen. Do you know there’s a gun I’ve found that looks exactly like a key?”

“Like a key? But it holds bullets? How big is it?”

“Oh, very small. It only fires one bullet, and the aim is dreadful, but it’s quite cunning, really.”

“I’d like to see it,” Day said.

“I’m glad to hear you say so, because I’ve sent you one.”

“You haven’t.”

“I found two of them and I thought to myself, ‘Who would appreciate a thing like this more than my dear friend Walter Day?’”

“You shouldn’t have. When did you send it? I haven’t seen it arrive.”

“I should think it would have got there yesterday. But really, watch for it any old day now.”

“I shall. Thank you so much.”

“When this is over, you must stop by the house. You’d be astonished by some of my recent finds. In fact, I have something I very much want to talk to you about. A proposition, you might say.”

“I’m intrigued.”

“By God, how I’ve missed your company. You have a knack for making a person feel like he’s the most interesting fellow you’ve met. Do come for dinner. I’ll have Jane make something special. And bring your lovely wife. How is Claire?”

“Oh, she’s huge. The baby can’t come fast enough for her at this point.”

March laughed. “Don’t worry. It’ll come all too fast, and it will grow even faster. You’ll wonder where the time went.”

“I already do.” Day glanced at the clock and grimaced. “Mr Hammersmith isn’t coming back out of the office, is he?”

“You’re anxious to get to the prison?”

“Of course. It’ll be daylight soon, and we’ve got to get on the trail of those men before they hurt anyone.”

“I’m not sure about all this. What will we possibly be able to accomplish at the prison itself? The escapees are long gone already, and I don’t think it matters all that much how many men we’re after, just so long as we catch them all.”

“You may be right,” Day said. “Ours is but to do and die, as the poet says.”

“Yes, of course. Orders are orders. I tell you what, though: If I see one of those prisoners outside the walls, I’ll shoot first and worry about capturing him later.”

“You’ve got your weapon?”

“I’m always armed, my dear boy. And not only with single-shot jailer’s guns. Made an enemy or two in my day, and it never hurts to be cautious. But I tell you what: You go ahead to the prison and I’ll wait for your sergeant here.”

“You’re sure?”

“Absolutely. It’ll give me a chance to get to know the lad. And you can get started unknotting Sir Edward’s little mystery.”

“Right, then. Good of you. I’m off. See you in a bit.”

Day closed the railing behind him and hurried away down the hall. Adrian March paused to glance at the closed door of Sir Edward’s office and clucked his tongue. “Bloody disgrace,” he said.

8

Cinderhouse was delighted to have a friend.

But there was a small voice nagging at him from the back of his mind. He’s a stranger, the voice said. He’s an escaped prisoner. Who knows what terrible things he’s done? Not the sort of friend we want, is he?

But I am also an escaped prisoner, Cinderhouse thought back at the voice. I have done terrible things. I needed to do terrible things, was forced to do them, but even so, who am I to judge anyone else?

The voice did not stop nagging, but it moved further back where he could ignore it amidst the other chatter in his head.

He and Griffin followed the underground stream deep into the tunnels beneath the city. Griffin was quiet and seemed tense, but Cinderhouse found himself occasionally humming a merry tune.

They passed through a long narrow channel that seemed to grow closer and closer as they went, the walls pushing in on them. Moist red clay oozed in the light of Cinderhouse’s lantern all around them, and their feet grew heavier as they walked, packing clay around the soles of their shoes. And then they passed out of that tunnel and there were steps cut into the clay ahead of them. Cinderhouse stopped and peered down into the darkness, and Griffin bumped into him as he emerged from the tunnel. Cinderhouse almost lost his balance and fell, and barely stopped himself from striking Griffin.

Remember, he’s your friend, the nagging voice mocked him.

“Where do we go from here?” Cinderhouse said out loud.

“Down, I suppose,” Griffin said. “There’s nowhere else to go.”