Maybelle woke up with a start, propping herself up with her feeble arms. The blanket covering her slid down her body and landed on the rug. Jacob was sitting at his desk, glowering over a blood-tipped spike. His hand contained a written journal.
She called to him, but her voice was too weak. She cleared her throat and tried again, "Jacob."
He practically jumped from his chair and whipped around to answer her. His stiffened form soon relaxed when he saw her awake, heart still beating.
"What happened?" She asked, rubbing her eyes to free herself from a forgotten nightmare.
He sighed, giving her a once-over, "You cut yourself on a poison-tipped blade."
She furrowed her brows, "What sort of poison does this to a human?" She stood and noticed she was stripped free of her coat.
He paused, "What have you seen?"
"It's all blurry, but I think I was falling. I saw blood." She shivered in horror when she remembered the glass tower, "And a tower made of glass, painted like the windows of a church."
"I gather it was a horrible experience." He shrugged.
"Jacob, you seem to always state the obvious. I'm not sure if that's some sort of heavy sarcasm, but it's not funny." She made her way to the makeshift kitchen and peered inside the pantry.
Jacob followed her, "I just don't know what to tell you."
"An apology would be nice."
"Apologize? For not warning you about touching things in my flat? Oh wait! I did."
The pantry was a mess of vegetables, preserved jars of unappealing fish, and yesterday's cold leftovers. She closed the pantry with a dissatisfied sigh.
"What was this, anyway?" She turned to him, and quickly found that he was too close for comfort. She pressed her back to the pantry.
"It's hard to explain. It's a blade used by a group of people I once visited in India, some two years ago. They taught me how to use it. The blade is coated in a special poison that makes the victim hallucinate. Their greatest fear is a common vision, but some only see death in its simplest forms—death by blade, death by illness. And amusingly, some see themselves at their current state, hallucinating that the blade will bleed them dry."
"Oh, yes. That's very amusing." She brushed past him towards the window, which was now closed. Outside, the sun was rising. The sky was overcast with the smoke of a thousand waking chimneys.
He exhaled, "Are you alright?"
"I'm fine." She put her forehead to the glass and enjoyed its coolness. Her flesh still felt hot from the ordeal.
He messed around with the wooden box in the background. Who were the people Jacob spoke of? Could one of them be his sister? It was logical, since she sent him a relic from India.
"Jacob, who's Evie?"
After her question, Jacob's movements ceased to cause a ruckus. Which meant he was either thinking, or she was about to fall into a grave. She moved away from the window and dared to look at him. A scowl made his stern glare all the more ominous. He visibly stiffened, appearing taller than she ever saw him.
"Where have you heard that name? You better start talking before I give you another hallucination." His boots kicked at the box that was in its rightful place, to bolster his threat.
"I read her name on that statue." She nodded towards Kali the Destroyer.
He moved towards her. A slow, deliberate stride that was often reserved for intimidation. She held her ground, refusing to back into the window, and watched him as he stalked until he stood close enough for him to hear her quickening heartbeat.
"Don't touch anything in this flat, you hear me?" His voice was low. She couldn't help but nod. "And secondly, you already know who she is. But if you tell anyone I have a sister, I'll make you wish you were born three centuries prior. So you could never cross paths with me or anyone remotely related to me. Is that clear?"
He was simply Stocker in another manifestation, she told herself, looking him in the eye, "Why can't I ask about her?"
"Because it's none of your business! Do you find me asking about your father or mother? Do you?" His elevated voice drained half her courage.
"You can ask if you want to," She offered.
"I couldn't care less about your lineage. I only want to find the artifact so I could never see your face again!"
She stared at him with crestfallen hooded eyes that held obvious pain, "The feeling is damn near mutual, Frye." She pushed past him towards the door, and tried to get it open. But the bastard kept it locked through most of the day and kept the key under his shirt. She rubbed her eyes and willed herself not to cry.
She felt his presence somewhere behind her, and she instantly bristled. If he dared to touch her, she will break both his hands. She didn't care if he killed her afterwards with a bullet, or what he always wanted, a trip to the abyss through an open window.
"Stay out of my business. I stay out of yours. And we will make some progress. I have no other choices to offer." He muttered.
"You're an appalling man, Frye. I thought I've seen my fair share of bastards, but you made me reconsider that. I just wanted to…" Her voice faded and she began sobbing. She hated when someone saw her at vulnerable moments. Jacob was a man who witnessed several of them and caused further more. She felt her throat tightening as she held back warm tears.
He folded his arms, "Thank you for your honesty. Get dressed. We have a man to meet that could help us locate Willis' shit-squad."
Since she had no other outfits to fret over and try each, the process of dressing was silent and plagued with too many thoughts. She began questioning her life expectancy, and if Jacob's presence shortened it with his constant threats. Maybelle was sure he wasn't going to put a knife in her neck anytime soon—not until he wrings her dry of any and all information that could prove useful to him. It's a good thing she knew a lot from gossiping maids and the many hushed nights she spent on the roof.
They took the train until they got off at Rotherhithe. He explained to her that he sent a letter to this man sometime after the plans came into his possession and he studied them himself, his spy would have discovered all he could by now. He led her through the roads and stopped by Hawkstone. She realized he was going into Southwark Park.
They became lost in the green maze. The park was overrun with planetrees, rich with leaves that prospered as winter gave away to a lush spring. The smell on the air was refreshingly dewy, with hints of the clusters of trees carried on the wind. Maybelle smiled, wishing they'd be here on leisurely walk instead of having crucial work to do.
They left the cobblestone and began walking on the grass. He was close enough that their shoulders brushed every now and then, she cleared her throat.
"I didn't know your man was a fan of nature, Frye." She said.
"You don't know anything at all about any of my men." He said, hands going to his pockets.
"Well, I don't know anything about you either. Why is that, I wonder?" She smiled playfully.
"Because, like it or not, your former associates are Templars. I can't guarantee the former part."
She scoffed, "You think Hayward will forgive me? He's a Willis. We don't forgive, we just take vengeance. I'm surprised one of his goons hasn't tracked me down and butchered me yet."
A spotted starling chirped in the distance, perched on a branch as it pecked at the tree's seeds. It flew after it had its fill. They neared a tree which branches extended to form an umbrella above the passerby. Maybelle leaped and tore a yellow leaf from the nearest branch and toyed with it between her fingers.
"It wouldn't be that easy to get to you, considering you're in my custody." He shrugged as he averted his eyes, scanning the leafy horizon.
His comment made her teeth grind, "I'm in nobody's custody. And frankly, if you haven't something I wanted, you would find your sofa empty when you wake up."
He shook his head as if he heard a silly remark from a sillier child, "I would hear you. You could be removing your blanket and I would hear the rustle of fabric."
"No, you wouldn't. I walked around your flat while you snored away, you didn't move a finger in response."
He scowled, eyes locked forward. Has she insulted him somehow? Her comment wasn't exactly kind, nor was it subtle. But she did not expect it to hurt him.
He remained quiet as they walked, and she couldn't take the wrecking silence anymore, "What is it, did I hurt your ego?"
He stopped, turning to squarely meet her gaze. He leaned towards her until she felt his breath on her face, his usual intimidating stance that merely caused her to feel uncomfortable. She refused to blink.
"Look, you might not know me, or know what I do, but know this—I worked hard to get to where I am right about now. Remember this before you begin to point out flaws in my skills that you wouldn't dream of copying in the next hundred years."
She inclined her head, noticing that he finished, "But I do know what you do. Aren't you a gang leader? I think you're a part-time treasure hunter, too. Just on the weekends." She smirked to herself.
"To answer your question. We're here because our man feels threatened by any other location." His voice was even, but it almost wavered with impatience.
"Oh? Is your friend a squirrel, Frye? Does he like forests?"
He rolled his eyes, leaning away and continuing his trek, "Why am I trying to explain anything to her? God damn it."
She looked away, saving her eyes from the pain of looking upon such a lunatic.
They arrived to an area overlooking the pond, an expanse devoid of trees by the banks. A wooden bench, brightly colored, was in the midst of the clearing. A man was sitting on it, his arms over the back, legs extended and heels digging into the grass. Jacob inched closer and slapped the man on the shoulder.
The man jumped, "What?! What is it?! Can't a man have a bit of time to himself? I'll check on the wife later."
"No, Jude. Check on her now, she fell into a puddle of chocolate and needs your help! She should cut down on the sweets, the poor woman has a permanent sugar rush." Jacob said with a straight face and took a seat on the bench. The man he called Jude looked at him, recognition quickly came to his face.
"Jacob, you old devil. You scared the shit out of me." He scratched at his head, which was blackened by the smog. A hat wasn't in his lap. At least she could relate to him, but her hair was already charcoal-black.
Maybelle moved and stood next to the side of the bench, awaiting an introduction.
Jacob seemed to have caught on. He looked between her and the caramel-skinned man, "Jude, this is Maybelle. She's helping in our investigation."
"Pleased to make your acquaintance," He said to her, and then to Jacob, "What kind of help is she offering?" His chocolate eyes were half amused, half confused.
"Information, for now. But I suppose she has different talents." Jacob eyed her, his eyes narrowed in thought.
"Well, now. It's nice to meet a talented young woman. My name is Jude Elliot, my lady. But Jacob calls me the Passenger." Jacob chuckled at that.
"And, why is that?" She folded her arms.
Jacob put his heel over his knee, "I found him on a train ride when he was fresh out of America and looking for things to do."
"Yes, you see, I was a carpenter in America. A coffin-builder on the side. There's so much you could learn about folks, when you're crafting their last bed. But eventually, you grow tired of it."
Jacob continued, "He was snooping on me, on the train, as I talked with one of my…um…"
Jude's fingers tightened around the cane in his lap, "One of his friends, from the pub."
"Yes, that. I quickly recruited him, for the rooks, that is."
The answer left a bad taste in Maybelle's mouth, "Why would some gangsters need a spy? Did someone steal their record-breaking pint?"
Jacob snorted, then eyed her seriously, "Do you have any idea how many enemies one could rake when he's a gang leader? Too many, Maybelle. Too many."
"Scoot over." She said, and he did.
She sat on the edge of the bench, the proximity to Jacob being something she couldn't bother dealing with at the moment. The men small-talked as she viewed the soothing landscape, her eyes following a bevy of swans as they waddled in circles. Their heads momentarily dipping in the water, looking for bits of food.
"What have you learned?" Jacob asked, and Maybelle's focus shifted.
Jude shifted into his hushed voice, "I found one of your men. The one they called Blake Dixon."
"The right-hand-man? I thought he'd be strapped to Willis' arse."
Jude puffed, "You would rather a challenge, Jacob?"
Jacob nudged the man with his elbow, "Judie, you know me so well."
"Then lady luck hates you, man. Anyway, he's hauled up in The City, Somewhere off Castle Street. You know it? It's near Finsbury. The man has a gigantic estate to his name nestled into a slum. His wife and child is in the country, not attending The Season. Be careful."
"I always am." Jacob smirked and nodded at Jude. He wanted to leave, but Maybelle put a hand on his chest.
"Wait, I'd like to ask this gentleman a couple of questions. Frye."
Jacob grumbled, but he couldn't resist, "About what?"
"About you." She leaned forward and met the man's questioning gaze, she inclined her head and grinned with sunny warmness, "Can you tell me anything about this miserable idiot you see before you? He wouldn't tell me himself, and I sure could use a paper listing his limited virtues, if any at all." She poked Jacob with a finger, he gave her an aggravated look.
"Are you really going to let her say this garbage about me, Judie?" He pouted at the younger man. With his black uniform and his piercing green eyes, the action contrasted greatly. Maybelle chuckled at that.
Jude regarded Jacob with a playful smile, "An idiot he might be, my lady. But he is a good man. He might look like the sort to steal your beer when you ain't looking, but he would rather drink it right before you. After he cajoles you to hand it over, of course."
"He sounds like he's in the center of good and bad." She shrugged.
Jacob raised his brow, "I'm good when I want to be, bad when I have to be."
"And what about the rest of the day?"
He grinned, "I play. The more dangerous the game, the better."
She looked amused, "So, what? Do you dance in the rain when there's an influenza epidemic? Do you jump down waterfalls for the thrill of it? Do you take a dip in the Thames because you fancied cooling yourself? Do you drink that horrible abomination called lemonade for the taste? Tell me."
He leaned in, "All that, and more."
Jude cleared his throat quietly, and Jacob righted himself to look at him, "Least he told you himself, you said he wouldn't tell you anything?"
She shrugged, "He remains secretive most of the time."
They shared a look Maybelle half-understood. They were probably in the same secretive allegiance, but she wouldn't pay a penny to learn its name. Suddenly, an idea surged into her mind.
"Jude, I gather you know the faces of a lot of people in London?" Maybelle asked him while messing with a loose string on her coat.
"I know everyone whose anyone as long as they aren't constantly changing identities—as I sometimes do when I'm on duty." He adjusted his grey collar with a proud smile, "Who are you looking for?"
"A woman called Myra Willis. She looks a lot like me, but with brown hair and grey eyes, like silver."
Fred's brows furrowed, he put his cane against the bench, "I don't recall the name itself. I have to return to my office to find if I had previous dealings with her family… Wait, did you say Willis?"
Jacob joined in with a suspicious look, "Yes, did you?"
"I did. If any of you are wondering, she isn't in the Order, or whatever it is you're up against. She's my sister. I'm just inquiring to see if I could… if I could still consider her alive. I want to know if I'm the last child of Josephine Willis. She was a beautiful, kind woman, and I don't expect to live long due to the nature of what I do…"
The spy nodded slowly, his hair whipping against his forehead due to a sudden gust of wind, "You're looking for closure, that it?"
She wanted to answer him verbally, but she gave him a weak nod instead.
"I understand. I will ask my men to look for the name, but my area is London. I have a couple of men stationed in Manchester, too. I can't promise much."
"She was in Nottinghamshire- last I saw her." Maybelle looked away, feeling the memories of Myra's departure weigh down on her.
Jacob sat up when he heard the tidbit of knowledge, "You're from Nottingham? What brings you to London, then? Moved when the factories began doubling?"
She ignored Jacob and looked at Jude instead, "I would appreciate any help you could give. Thank you. Closure is the only thing I want. If she doesn't want to come home… my home, then I will let her be. But I need to know if she survived. So, if you find traces of her whereabouts, please tell me."
He nodded earnestly, "Right you are, my lady."
Jacob let out a bored sigh, "Are we done here? We don't have much time to kill, we're all busy folks here."
She shrugged, "Suppose so. Let's find the man you're so eager to murder."