"We're gonna get caught."
"No, we're not," Joseph said. "If anyone questions us, we just say we're lost." He glanced down the long service hall. "We need to find a place for you to watch the session, I need both our eyes in that room!" While Joseph was more proficient than his partner at sleight-of-hand and showmanship, Goran was much more mechanically inclined, and was the better person to suss out the nature of the 'ghostly' part of the performance.
The two men were decked out in servant's livery; Joseph in the long box-coat of a coachman, and Goran in the more trimmed out jacket of a footman. Joseph was determined to get the name of Lady Bosford's tailor, for the clothes were not only immaculately fitted, but they had been completed practically overnight. He could use that kind of talent for costume commissions.
Goran tugged at the high collar of his starched shirt. "Lady Bosford should have made me her coachman. If I were the coachman, I'd get to sit and watch in the back with the other servants."
Joseph snorted. "You're kidding, right? Not only am I at least five years older than you, I'm a head and a couple hands taller! No lady in her right mind would have you for a coachman when she could have me. You just didn't like her pinching your cheeks and calling you adorable."
"She's scary, mate," Goran said. "She's nice enough, but I can see why your friend—"
"Many pardons, but you should not be here."
They turned to see a young man standing in the hallway. He wore a deep blue Chinese tunic that Joseph knew was no costume, and his silver hair was pulled back in a tight bun at the back of his head, although a number of shining strands had escaped to frame his thin, pale face. He carried a red lacquered bowl that was filled with gold sovereigns and slips of paper.
This must be Lee's son, Naka, Joseph realized. Bloody hell. "Don't mind us, young sir," he said quickly, "we're here with our mistress and are a bit lost." He risked a quick glance at the bowl's contents, and noticed that two of the paper slips were folded off to one side. Must be tonight's picks.
"I am sorry," the boy said in accented English, "I cannot help you. But you should not be here, my father will be angry if he sees you—the Lady of the house promised this area to us tonight."
"I'm sorry, it's my fault," Goran said, and he pointed at Joseph. "He's the lucky one—he gets to watch your show with the other servants." He smiled at the boy. "I really wanted to see it, too, I heard that you and your dad are pretty amazing! But the ladies are only allowed to let one servant come and watch." He hung his head, seemingly dejected, and scuffed his shoe on the carpet runner. "I'm just a stupid footman."
Joseph reminded himself to compliment Goran on a stellar acting job.
A small smile flitted across the young man's otherwise serious face. "You have heard stories about me? Not just my father?"
Goran nodded. "Yeah! I heard that you can make the people's papers fly up in the air, right into your dad's hand! And you're not even touching them, is what my friend said. That's amazing!"
"No, no," Joseph said, catching on to Goran's intent, "I heard that the old man does all the magic." He pointed at Naka. "This one's just the helper… the assistant. Like you," he said with a sneer.
Goran moved to stand next to Naka, and he crossed his arms and glared at Joseph. "Liar. I think he's got more magic than his dad—he's the one who finds the people who have ghosts! That's more important." He jutted out his chin. "You go on and watch, Mister 'I'm the Coachman.' I guess I'll have to just hear about it, again, instead of seeing it for myself."
Joseph had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing. "You'd better watch your sauce, Mister Stupid Footman," he said, looking down his nose at Goran, "or you won't be hearing anything about it from me." He stomped off down the hall and ducked inside the nearest alcove, standing as close to the hallway as he dared, so he could hear the two young men.
"He's so mean," he heard Goran say. "He told he if I gave him my desserts for a week he would sneak me in." Goran sighed. "I'd better go, I don't want to get in more trouble. But it was so great to meet you! I'm Gordon."
"I am Naka," the boy replied. "I'm very pleased to meet you, Gordon." Joseph had to strain to listen as Naka's voice dropped to a whisper. "I can find you a place where you can watch, if you want."
"Really?" Goran whispered back.
"Yes," Naka replied. "Also, if you want, I can complain about that coachman to Lady Tillsworth, and she will make him leave."
That little shit, Joseph thought.
"No, no, that's all right," Goran told him, "if you do that he'll blame it on me and I'll catch all hell later."
"Wait here," Naka commanded, "I must put away the coins and get the…" he hesitated, then continued, "I mean, the papers can't show me which people have ghosts if there is any metal near them. I'll be back and then I will show you a place where you can watch me."
Joseph had to admire the kid's quick recovery. He also admired Goran's quick conquest—but then again, his young Gypsy friend could charm the scales off a fish when he put his mind to it.
Hearing Goran's 'all-clear' whistle from down the hallway, Joseph slipped out of the alcove and headed into the ballroom that was being used for the afternoon's session. He admired the setup of the space; the curtains had all been drawn, leaving the room lit only by the large gas-lit chandelier in the center of the room. He saw several rows of chairs, and at the very front was a long table covered in richly embroidered cloth, and a smaller side table that held a few curious looking items. On each side of the table, a few feet away, stood two easels that held large, ornately framed panels of Chinese embroidery; golden dragons on a background of deep red satin.
They had set quite an exotic stage for their show.
He yelped when Lady Bosford rapped him on the shoulder with her fan. "There you are, naughty boy," she said. "Go stand with the others before I change my mind and make you wait with the horse." With a flick of her wrist, the fan opened, displaying several dozen narrow, ornately painted panels. "I trust you took care of my footman?"
"Yes, my lady," Joseph replied.
"Very good," she said, and then she sauntered over to join some other ladies near the front row.
Gilbert might complain about his aunt, Joseph thought, as he made his way to the back wall, but she was pretty damn useful. He took his place with the other servants, aware of a number of disapproving glances directed at his tied-back hair. He hoped no one would recognize him.
His worry was alleviated a few moments later when the lights were lowered in the room, so Joseph turned his attention to Lee and Naka's routine. He had to admit, the man was good, and because he made a ritual of the steps in the presentation, people didn't think to notice that the 'ghosts' appeared after Naka returned to the table that held the red bowl, a pair of gold scissors, and a seemingly useless brass obelisk. The misdirection was excellent—as far as Joseph could see, all eyes were on Lee, leaving Naka free to turn the apparitions on and off by turning the gleaming brass object.
Joseph was grateful for his height when it came time to watch Lee to perform his 'surgery.' Just as in the session Gilbert attended, a man was selected, and Joseph wondered if that was always done. Most likely, he guessed, since no well-born lady would ever consent to baring their stomach in public. He watched where Lee placed his hands, as well as the movement of his shoulders while the man performed his 'operation.'
People around him gasped when Lee held the tissue aloft, and Joseph hoped Goran had a good view; the bloody lump looked to be about the size that Gilbert described, and from what Joseph remembered from his quick trip to a local butcher the day before, it looked like it could be a chicken heart. He thought that burning it in the bowl was brilliant—not only did fire get rid of any resemblance to poultry innards, but the tiny sparks he'd noticed along the bowl's edges told him that the flame had also burnt away the razor-thin wire that must have been used to 'levitate' the paper slips.
Mixing copper chloride with the alcohol to make it burn with a blue flame was a nice touch.
He shook his head; what was he doing, admiring the man like he was a fellow performer? Joseph had no patience for those of his profession who claimed to be 'spiritualists,' and he heartily applauded whenever another magician would expose a sham.
And by God, this was a sham.
After Lee declared the session was over, he asked the audience to leave quickly so that he and Naka could 'purify the room of any ghostly remnants.' Purify, my arse, Joseph thought, they needed to take down all the glass and other apparatus that projected the ghost-like images. Judging by how long it used to take him and Goran to pack up after a show, Joseph estimated they had less than an hour before Lee and his son left.
Joseph intended to follow them.
"Lady Bosford, we need to get you back home," he said as he followed Constance out of the room, keeping his voice low even though it was unlikely he would be heard over the excited chatter in the parlor. "Goran and I are going to follow the good doctor when he leaves, which will be in less than an hour." He saw Goran appear in the hallway, and waved him over.
Constance Bosford sighed. "I have to miss the refreshments again? First Gilbert dragged me away, and now you want to as well. I think I will exact my revenge by making you all come over for dinner when this dreadful nonsense is over." Her tone was one of complaint, but her dark eyes were sparkling with mischief.
He turned to Goran. "Wait for me in the mews out back when you return," he said.
Once he had Lady Bosford safely ensconced in her carriage with Goran at the reins, Joseph headed toward the narrow alley on the left side of the house, making sure his manner was certain and unhurried, as if he was absolutely supposed to be there and wasn't sneaking around at all. Once he was in the dim light of the alley, Joseph picked up his pace and trotted back toward the rear of the house, ducking behind a group of large dust-bins when he heard voices speaking in another language.
Chinese, he assumed, and from the sound of things, Lee was ordering his son around. Joseph risked a peek into the back courtyard, where he discovered Lee and Naka loading up a wagon. Naka came out of the house with one of the two large panels Joseph had seen in the ballroom earlier, and something about the way Naka carried it made Joseph realize that he wasn't simply carrying a framed satin panel—the young man was leaning in a way that suggested he had a heavy, unbalanced load.
Once again Joseph had to keep himself from admiring Lee's ingenuity; he was willing to bet a goodly sum that those panels also held the glass and mirrors that were used to project the 'ghosts.' The frames were thick enough to provide hidden storage, and no one had questioned their presence at all—in fact, he had overheard a number of people commenting on how the embroidered dragons contributed to the exotic atmosphere of the room.
Naka disappeared into the house and came back a few minutes later with the obelisk, platter and bowl. As he crossed the courtyard to the wagon he stumbled on a raised cobblestone and tripped, and the items flew from his hands and landed with a clang a few feet away, the bowl's contents scattering all over the pavers. The young man scrambled to pick everything up, but he wasn't quick enough for Lee, who unleashed a torrent of any Chinese at Naka while he cuffed his son hard enough to send him sprawling to the ground.
Naka's cry of pain made Joseph clench his fists, and his fury increased when he saw the mottled bruises that were revealed when Naka's tunic top rose up above his waist. The young man stammered out an unintelligible apology as he pulled himself to his feet and retrieved the fallen items.
Joseph heard the crunch of gravel, and he looked across the mews and saw Goran pull up with the carriage on the other side of the narrow service alley, his coat collar turned up and his hat pulled down low to disguise his features. Goran whistled a bright melody as he dismounted and tended to his horse, and Joseph recognized the tune as one of their older signals; this one meant 'ready and waiting.'
When Naka followed Lee into the house, Joseph seized the opportunity to run across the courtyard to join Goran—but not before he stopped and snatched a blackened, thumb-sized bit from the ground. He stood behind the carriage, catching his breath, careful to stand in front of one of the wheels so that it would be difficult to see his legs from the house. Goran cheerfully ignored him, talking instead to the horse.
"Don't you worry, old man," Goran said as he scratched behind a silky black ear, "We'll be heading out soon, and I'll give you a right good adventure."
A few minutes later, Lee and Naka climbed into their loaded wagon. Lee yanked on the reins, snapped something angry-sounding at the horse, and the vehicle creaked as they pulled away.
Goran hopped up into the driver's perch while Joseph climbed into the carriage and sat on the padded leather bench.
"Didn't know horses spoke Chinese," Goran said, and then he clucked at the horse and flicked the reins.
There was no opportunity for the two men to talk while Goran skillfully maneuvered the carriage, keeping Lee in sight yet staying far enough behind to avoid suspicion. Joseph studied the charred bit in his hand, and when he sniffed at it he caught a whiff of rubbing alcohol and the tang of copper. He wrapped it in a handkerchief and tucked it into his coat pocket to show Gilbert later. Joseph found it hard to focus on the wagon in front of them; he still seethed with anger at Lee's mistreatment of his son, mistreatment that was obviously a habit, given the varying colors of the bruises on the boy's back. He wondered why Naka didn't just run away, and then he realized that the boy probably felt that he had nowhere to go. For the most part, Chinamen were viewed with distrust—much like Gypsies—and Joseph imagined that Naka would have a hard time getting by on his own in the streets of London.
The elite neighborhood gave way to dingy, ill-kept streets, and stately mansions were replaced by a hodge-podge of brick warehouses and tenements. Up ahead, Lee made a series of sharp turns, which Joseph hoped Goran was keeping track of, and he leaned forward in his seat as Lee halted in front of one of the smaller warehouses, a one story affair that had a mix of brickwork, tall, arched windows, and a steep slated roof. The glass windows were painted black, Joseph noticed, allowing no view of the building's interior. He watched as Naka jumped down to unlock and open a set of arched, wooden double doors, and he took note of the peeling, robin's-egg blue paint.
Joseph rapped on the roof of the carriage, signaling Goran to halt. He watched Lee drive the wagon inside, and rusty hinges squealed as Naka pulled the tall doors shut. Joseph scanned the area, memorizing the surrounding buildings and landmarks. He craned his neck to catch a flash of white on the edge of a dilapidated factory—
Thrawl St.
"Gotcha," he murmured. When he rapped on the roof again Goran spoke to the horse, and the carriage jerked into motion once more—swiftly this time, to take them as quickly as possible out of one of the worst parts of London. "We'll be back."