Ryunosuke pulled his coat tight against the chilly night air and hurried down the street, scampering between the pools of yellow light the lamps cast on the cobblestones. It was cold and late and he was hungry, and he'd just spent half the evening in a panic. He should have been back at Baker Street a long time ago, well before darkness fell. To add insult to injury, his self-inflicted delay had turned out to be entirely unnecessary.
He had spent the day in the library, researching the intricacies of English law. It had been months since he'd been banished from the courtroom, barred from practicing his craft, and so steeping himself in judicial literature was often the best he could manage. Without Susato and her encyclopedic knowledge of law and culture, Ryunosuke was forced to fend for himself.
The venture had started off well enough, if a bit dull. Ryunosuke felt that he'd done his time on that steamship, learning a law education in only a few short weeks, and he hadn't been able to look at a book the same way ever since. All he had to do was glance at the cover, and his eyes would start to cross. But since Susato had been called back to Japan to be with her ailing father, Ryunosuke had no choice but to do his own reading.
He had read through the afternoon and early evening, scribbling notes as he went, before deciding to give his cramping hands a break and get something to eat. He dallied over dinner, loath to return to his thankless task, and when he finally plodded back into the library, the book he'd left open on the table had vanished.
At first, he thought he must have misremembered which table he had been working at. He scoured every room, checking each table, but his book was nowhere to be found. He made another pass of the building to check the floors in case the book had somehow fallen, ducking low to peek under chairs and poke at dark corners.
This nearly got him banned from the library when he crawled beneath a table and a lady fell into a fit of hysterics accusing him of trying to peek up her skirt. Stammering out his frantic apologies while she shrieked and everyone gathered around to glare at him ranked as one of the most mortifying moments of his life. He had somehow managed to talk himself out of that mess, but he'd been left red-faced and anxious and covered in a layer of dust and crumbs that clung to his uniform no matter how hard he tried to brush them off.
He might have made his escape right then, except that he still felt terrible for losing the library's book and had now, in his haste to explain himself, told everyone he'd lost a book. If the library demanded that he pay to replace the volume, he could hardly afford it on his meager stipend. It really shouldn't be his responsibility. He hadn't taken the book out of the building, after all. At least, he was fairly sure he hadn't. But he'd had it last, and he didn't want to get into any more trouble.
Doubting himself, he retraced his steps back to the café where he'd eaten dinner, just in case he had brought the book with him and somehow forgotten about it. When he still found nothing, he began to worry that another library patron had stolen the book from the table while he'd been gone. He circled the library as casually as he could manage—no mean feat when everyone was still eyeing him warily after the earlier outburst—surreptitiously craning his neck to peek into open bags and squint at the titles of books people were reading. He performed this task with less stealth than he might have liked, if the increasingly suspicious glares were anything to go by. He met even less success with casual questions, giving up after the first few attempts met with such frosty reception that he could barely get out his questions past his nervous stammering.
Finally, after hours of this nonsense, he was forced to admit defeat and explain his predicament to the clerk behind the desk, who eyed him haughtily above his spectacles and asked if he'd checked to see if the book had been reshelved by a staff member who had seen it lying abandoned. A mad rush to the shelves—and another few minutes of searching as he tried to remember where he'd found the volume in the first place—turned up the troublesome book tucked in among its neighbors.
This had been a very low point of an already terrible day, and he had fled the library as quickly as his legs could carry him. He was never going to be able to show his face there again. Everyone thought he was a madman now, and Susato wasn't here to smooth things over this time. She would certainly have thought to check the shelves before making a fool of herself.
All Ryunosuke wanted to do now was hurry home and pretend this day had never happened. And eat something. Anxiety always kicked his appetite into high gear. He was starving again already.
He tripped over a curb in the dark and stumbled before righting himself and hurrying on. He'd need a story for why he was so late when Sholmes and Iris asked. He could hardly tell them the truth, or Sholmes would never let him live it down. He didn't think he could handle a comedy routine on today's snafu just yet. He wondered if they'd buy the story that he had just been so thoroughly immersed in his book that he'd lost track of time. Maybe not, given how much he'd been sighing over the prospect this morning.
He was so caught up in this dilemma that it took him longer than it should have to process the noises coming from up ahead. He was already turning the corner before he recognized the sound of boots pounding against pavement and steel clanging against steel.
Up ahead, four shadowy figures danced and wove around each other, swords gleaming dully as they flicked in and out of the lamplight. Ryunosuke nearly tripped over his feet as he stumbled to a stop, his heart jumping into his throat. His immediate instinct was to turn tail and run before any of the combatants noticed him, but his feet were rooted to the ground. He couldn't just flee and potentially leave an innocent person to be killed. But he didn't know which, if any, of the figures he should be rooting for, and he could offer no meaningful aid anyway.
But the police could, he realized. Yes. The most sensible thing would be to run and find a police officer who could step in and break up the altercation. But what if someone was wounded or killed in the meantime?
Before he could make up his mind, one of the men sidestepped an attack and the shadows fell away as he slid into a yellow pool of lamplight. The light cast van Zieks's features in sharp relief for a moment before he spun back into the shadows to meet an incoming blow with the ringing of steel. The shock of seeing someone he knew being attacked drew Ryunosuke up short. He hadn't seen van Zieks in weeks, and then only across the courtroom on the worst of terms, but he certainly didn't want to see the man injured or killed.
Van Zieks was holding his own, at least. He moved with the ease and grace of an experienced swordsman, his sword darting about like lightning to parry each incoming blow and strike back. In fact, a shadowy heap on the ground that Ryunosuke hadn't noticed before groaned and twitched before going still again, and he assumed van Zieks had already incapacitated one of his assailants.
But no matter how good a fighter someone might be, three-on-one was never even odds.
Van Zieks blocked one attacker's blow with his sword and simultaneously twisted aside to avoid the second man's thrust. The third man swung around behind him, sword rising.
"Behind you!" Ryunosuke called.
Van Zieks was already spinning, punching his blade through his attacker's stomach before the blow ever had the chance to fall. The man cried out and collapsed to the ground as van Zieks yanked his blade back out.
But now Ryunosuke had given himself away, forfeiting the chance to run for help or beat a hasty retreat. The other men had taken notice of him now, and he knew, even as he shrank back, that it was too late to escape.
"Better shut up the witness too," one of the men muttered. "He's armed."
The other nodded and drove forward with a sudden flurry of quick blows, pushing van Zieks back a few paces, while the one who had spoken darted past and made a beeline for Ryunosuke.
Ryunosuke made an undignified noise somewhere between a squeak and a yelp as he scrambled backwards. "No, no!" he said quickly, holding his hands up in surrender. "It's just for show! I don't even know how to use a sword, really. Don't–"
The man took a swing, and Ryunosuke felt the blade parting the air just in front of his face as he barely managed to lurch backwards in time. His heart beat wildly against his ribcage as his focus narrowed to the gleaming blade already rising to swing down on him again. He could only stare as terror held him frozen in place. He couldn't believe he was about to die—here in England, far away from home, alone in the streets.
Instead of steel slicing through his skin, something slammed into him with the force of a sledgehammer, clipping him with a glancing blow and sending him stumbling backwards. Ryunosuke gasped for air, his panicked breaths loud and uneven in his ears. It took him a moment to identify the shadow hovering before him.
Van Zieks had somehow wedged his way between Ryunosuke and his attacker. He faced away from Ryunosuke, arm raised to fend off the blow. Ryunosuke had to shift sideways to see that the sword had bitten deep into van Zieks's forearm. The sword in van Zieks's other hand flicked up just in time to catch the second attacker's slashing blade. Steel slid against steel before screeching to a stop, the blades locked together.
For a moment, everything was still. Van Zieks was as immovable as a statue, holding firm against both attacks.
Then one of the thugs laughed. "We've got you now, Reaper."
He yanked his blade back out of van Zieks's arm, sending a fine spray of blood into the air, and swung again. Van Zieks stepped back, bumping into Ryunosuke and sending him stumbling again. He did something with his sword, angling it downwards and drawing back so that his opponent's blade slid down the length and disengaged, and whipped it back up just as fast to block the incoming blow. It was a lightning-quick and dextrous defense, but perhaps an awkward one. Ryunosuke didn't know enough about swordplay to make a judgment and it looked plenty impressive to him, but the thug managed to twist his blade in such a way that it wrested van Zieks's sword from his grasp and sent it clattering against the cobblestones.
The man smiled, teeth flashing in the moonlight. "Look, it's over. You're injured and unarmed. Why don't you just come quietly?"
A hand clamped down on the back of Ryunosuke's collar, and he choked in surprise as van Zieks dragged him backwards another few paces.
"Stay back," van Zieks said in a distinctly tetchy tone.
Amazing. Even disarmed and outnumbered against men who wanted to kill him, he still sounded as irritable and cold as ever. He didn't even sound afraid at all. It was unnatural. Ryunosuke was terrified.
"And be quiet," van Zieks added in an even more waspish voice.
"S-sorry!" Ryunosuke stammered. Had he been mumbling his thoughts aloud, or could van Zieks read minds as well as Susato? "I didn't–"
The two would-be assassins lunged. Van Zieks stepped forward unhurriedly to meet them, and Ryunosuke's breath caught in his throat. Whatever differences he and van Zieks might have had in the courtroom, he didn't want to see the man gutted in front of him.
Van Zieks twisted aside, sliding between the blades and stepping in close behind one man's guard. The man yelped in surprise and then pain as something glinted in the moonlight and caught him between the ribs.
"He's got a knife!" he cried.
Van Zieks lifted his arm, and now Ryunosuke could make out the shape of the dagger in the shadows as the pommel slammed into the assailant's temple and sent him crumpling to the ground in an unconscious heap.
Van Zieks whirled, effortlessly dancing around the second man's strike and whipping his other arm up to slam his fist into his attacker's face. As the thug stumbled back, his free hand flying to his broken nose, van Zieks kicked his legs out from under him and he crashed to the ground. Van Zieks nudged the sword out of the man's hand with the toe of his boot and kicked it away before bending over. His cloak flared around him, pooling on the ground as he crouched down and obstructing Ryunosuke's view, and there was a dull thump. The thug's moaning stopped abruptly.
Van Zieks stood, knife already tucked back beneath his cloak wherever he'd pulled it from. He retrieved his sword, wiping the length against an unconscious thug's cloak, and slid it into its scabbard. Only after he had done an unhurried survey of the four incapacitated men littering the street did he finally turn back and regard Ryunosuke.
Ryunosuke stared back with wide eyes, still reeling from the shock of nearly dying and amazed by van Zieks's neat handling of the situation.
"Are you unharmed?" van Zieks asked without inflection.
"No, I– I mean, yes, I'm fine, but you– You were hurt, your arm…"
Van Zieks flicked a hand contemptuously, batting away the concern. His injured arm was tucked beneath his cloak, out of sight, and Ryunosuke was not quite bold enough to demand to see the damage.
Ryunosuke tried again. "Thank you for, you know, saving me."
The corners of van Zieks's mouth tightened towards a grimace, the only detectable change in his expression. "You were caught up in my fight, and so I got you back out of it. That's all. I would hope, that in your infinite wisdom, you would think twice before inserting yourself into a street brawl next time."
"Oh, well, I didn't really think at all, just–"
"Yes, I had gathered as much."
Ryunosuke squirmed under van Zieks's cold-eyed gaze. Now that the assassins had been rendered incapacitated, van Zieks was the scariest person in the vicinity again. Ryunosuke did not doubt that whatever temporary truce they'd had was now dissolved.
"Oh, yes, well… Thank you anyway. I thought they were going to kill me, so…"
"Yes, and that would be inconvenient for me, as I would undoubtedly be blamed for it somehow," van Zieks said sourly. "I don't need my reputation extending to troublesome defense attorneys."
Ryunosuke was suddenly very aware that he was standing in the dark alone with the infamous Reaper of the Bailey, who already despised him, without the relative safety of the courtroom between them. His heart rate, just starting to slow, ratcheted up another notch. Van Zieks had always seemed, despite his smoldering rancor towards everything Japanese in general and Ryunosuke in particular, to be generally honorable and respectable, at least in regard to the law. Despite how frightening he could be, Ryunosuke had a hard time imagining him running around murdering people. But still, there were an awful lot of coincidences and rumors swirling around him, and he wasn't exactly doing anything to dispel them.
Maybe some of Ryunosuke's apprehension showed on his face, because one of van Zieks's eyebrows ticked upwards and his already stony expression somehow closed off even more.
"Yes, I'm sure that would be very inconvenient!" Ryunosuke said hurriedly. He glanced at the shadowy heaps in the street and frowned, a more solemn weight settling over him and smothering some of his nerves. "Is that, um…normal? You seemed to know what you were doing. Do people just…attack you like that?"
Van Zieks shrugged carelessly. "From time to time."
"But… Who are they?"
"Associates of the last defendant who bought his way out of my clutches, undoubtedly."
Ryunosuke stared at him. "But… Why?"
Van Zieks's eyes narrowed suspiciously, as if he suspected Ryunosuke might be mocking him or being deliberately obtuse. "If you were a criminal and guilty as sin, and you bribed the jury to escape conviction but knew you had the threat of the Reaper hanging over you, what would you do?"
Ryunosuke frowned, puzzled by both the riddle and its solution. "I would…hide at home and not leave the house until it was safe again?"
Van Zieks looked down his nose at Ryunosuke. "For months?"
"Well, I mean…"
"And you are very confident that a serial murderer wouldn't find a way into your home when he grew tired of waiting for you to emerge."
"Oh, well, perhaps it would be better to hide somewhere secret instead, like, um…"
Van Zieks shook his head. "Every time I begin to think you must have a brain in there somewhere, you disappoint me."
Ryunosuke winced. "Maybe it would make more sense to flee the country for a while?"
Van Zieks tilted his head as if considering the answer, but then sighed. "You lack an understanding of your clientele, my learned friend. I suppose the people you've defended so far have been too soft."
"And innocent."
"Aside from Mr. McGilded, who would have taught you a thing or two. When I am not tussling with you in the courtroom, the people I prosecute are hardened criminals—cold-blooded murderers, high-born nobles, wealthy self-made men with too much to lose. They are not the type to abandon their lives and run. They have the ruthlessness or power or wealth to make their problems disappear in other ways. More permanent ways. The safest course of action is to remove the problem at the root and neutralize the threat." Van Zieks sniffed contemptuously. "One day, someone is going to get a nasty surprise when they finally manage it and the Reaper catches up to them anyway in the midst of their celebration."
"That's… That's terrible," Ryunosuke said, his stomach turning over.
Van Zieks only shrugged. "That's the way it's always been."
Losing interest in the conversation, he turned away and shrugged his cloak aside to prod at his injured arm. Ryunosuke tried to edge around to get a peek, but van Zieks's body was blocking his view and it was difficult to see anything in the dark.
"Is your arm going to be alright?" he asked.
"It's fine," van Zieks said sharply, and Ryunosuke's mouth snapped shut at the vehemence of his tone.
So van Zieks didn't want to talk about it. Ryunosuke searched for something else to say. A way to exit this situation and scurry back to Baker Street or figure out what they were supposed to do about the assassins sprawled all around them.
Before he could come up with anything suitable, the nighttime hush was broken by the sound of heavy footsteps running towards them at speed. Ryunosuke's heart jumped into his throat at the thought of more thugs coming to finish them off.
"What's that?" he squeaked. "Who do you think it could be?"
A particularly grim expression crossed van Zieks's face.
"Round two," he said sourly.
The police were late tonight. Barok kept up with the beats through his connections at Scotland Yard and his own firsthand observation. He knew who was assigned where and how long it took to complete each route. He knew the habits of the officers, at what times they were accustomed to pass by certain streets and how reliable or inconsistent their timing was.
This was not an academic exercise, but a practical means of survival. While he preferred to avoid attracting the constabulary's attention when possible, it was useful to know where the nearest officer was likely to be in the event that he encountered a situation he couldn't handle on his own. It had saved his life once or twice.
The officer on this beat, a gangly youth by the name of Weston, should have passed by some eight minutes previously. It was inconceivable that he would have missed the commotion if he was anywhere in the vicinity.
This delay would have given Barok time to disappear into the night if he'd had the mind to, but the untimely appearance of Naruhodo had to be contended with. And it would be best to ensure these would-be assassins were taken into custody. It would be unfortunate if they were to try again at a time when his newly acquired apprentice happened to be with him. Protecting noncombatants during a fight was inconvenient at best and dangerous at worst. While his apprentice did seem to possess some swordsmanship skills, it was still Barok's duty to ensure his safety. Keeping track of Naruhodo was irritating enough, and the sharp pain lancing through Barok's arm was a good reminder of why he preferred handling his fights alone. The frankly unnecessary injury was not improving his mood or making him feel any more charitably towards Naruhodo and his uncanny knack for finding trouble.
And now it was too late to retreat even if he wanted to. Barok folded his arms, keeping his cloak tucked around his injury to slow the bleeding, and stared grimly down the street.
"M-maybe we should get out of here," Naruhodo babbled, the words tripping over themselves in his haste. Out of the corner of his eye, Barok caught the man wringing his hands together in a most distasteful fashion. "I'm sure you could, er, handle it, of course, but you're injured and I should, uh, honestly be going, so–"
"It's too late now," Barok said shortly as Naruhodo inched backwards.
Naruhodo gulped audibly.
A moment later, two bobbies came pelting down the street. Barok fixed Weston with an unfriendly glare, thinking that the man had likely caught wind of the attack several minutes ago and delayed his intervention, either because he was too cowardly to step in without first fetching backup or because he was hoping some assassin might finally do the Reaper in if given the opportunity.
"Oh!" Naruhodo exhaled on a gasp. "It's the police!"
Barok eyed him sidelong, wondering how dense the Nipponese lawyer might be. "Obviously. Who were you expecting?"
Naruhodo blinked back at him, eyes comically round. "B-but you said…"
"Lord van Zieks!" Weston called, trotting over with a strangely uneven gait. He spared a glance at the men crumpled on the ground before turning to Barok. "Is everything alright, sir? We heard a disturbance."
As unpleasant as assassination attempts might be, Barok detested dealing with the aftermath even more. He despised filing the paperwork, giving statements to the Yard while the officers watched him with eyes full of fear or loathing, ignoring the ridiculous headlines splashed across the gossip rags if the newspapers caught wind of the story. He hated this part the most: the cleanup at the scene. His trust in the Yard was at an all-time low, and he was sick of seeing the looks on the detectives' faces and fielding questions with hidden barbs.
No one would come out and say it, but he imagined he could read it on some of their faces—the firm belief that the incidents were no more than he deserved and the disappointment that things hadn't gone further. He hated pity more. It made him feel small and cornered, like an animal caged in the zoo. The police hid any less savory feelings beneath a veneer of respect and deference that the public didn't need to feign, but he despised that more because he had to read between the lines until he couldn't tell how much of his interpretations were genuine and how much was his paranoia.
Truthfully, he just wanted to be left alone. He disliked living his life under a microscope, and never was that more difficult to ignore than when his private affairs were dragged out in the fallout of these incidents and recorded in police reports for posterity. It was exhausting.
But as he had little choice in the matter, he gritted his teeth and set to work.
"You're late," he snapped. "What took you so long?"
Weston flinched back, swallowing hard. "I– Well, you see–"
"Never mind that now," Barok said, cutting him off. The other bobby cast him an unfriendly look at odds with Weston's wide-eyed anxiety. "The incident has been resolved. Take these four men into custody. The bumbling Nipponese student lurking behind me is a witness. You may take his statement and mine. Quickly, now. I don't have all night."
The officers sprang into action. While his companion hurried to slap restraints on the perpetrators, Weston whipped out a notepad to take statements.
"Are you sure you don't want to come down to the Yard and give your statement there, sir?" he asked.
"Why on earth would I waste my time going to the Yard when you have a perfectly functional set of ears right here?" Barok asked, pain sharpening his words to points. He could feel the blood soaking through his wadded cloak and seeping down his sleeves, and it made him anxious to wrap this up as quickly as possible. The cut was deep and needed stitches, and the sooner the police were finished with him, the sooner he could take care of the wound. "If the Yard decides they want a more formal statement, they are welcome to contact me tomorrow."
"Oh, um, yes, of course!"
"Take the Easterner's statement first so that he's free to leave."
Barok wandered off a few paces, listening to Naruhodo's statement with half an ear as he examined his assailants more closely. The arresting officer cast him a wary look but carried on restraining the men without comment.
"That's all, really," Naruhodo was saying. "I didn't really see anything before that, so…"
"Thank you," Weston said, pencil scratching furiously. "And, ah… Lord van Zieks? Would you care to give a statement about what happened?"
"They followed me from the office," Barok said, frowning down at the man on the ground in front of him. He gave a brief account of the altercation, his attention torn between the would-be assassin and the sharp pain radiating from his arm rather than focused on the officer.
"Any speculation about the motive, sir?"
Barok finally tore his gaze away to regard Weston with scornful disbelief. "The motive? I expect it's the same motive as always, wouldn't you agree?"
Weston flushed. "I– Yes, sir. Of course, sir. My apologies. I just meant if you perhaps had any idea who they might be or who they could be working for."
Barok drew a deep breath and let it out slowly. His pain and impatience were shortening his temper at an alarming rate. He softened his tone with an effort, enough to remove traces of his irritation even if his voice stayed cold and clipped.
"I expect it's related to the Asman trial."
Weston paused, pencil stilling. "From earlier this week? He got off clean, didn't he? Despite all the evidence."
"Yes." Barok looked back down at the man sprawled at his feet. "This one is a known associate of Mr. Asman. A Mr. George Chapman, I believe. I doubt you'll be able to find a material connection past circumstantial speculation, though. Mr. Asman is the careful sort. The kind of man who knows how to cover his tracks." He grimaced. "The kind who will try again and take more precautions next time."
"If you're worried about another attempt, the Yard could–"
"I don't need anything from the Yard," Barok said with finality. "I will handle the matter as I see fit. Scotland Yard need do nothing but take these men into custody and ensure they face any relevant charges."
This could prove to be most inconvenient. Barok expected Asman would make another attempt. He was certainly wealthy and powerful and conceited enough. While Barok was not particularly afraid of Asman or his ilk, it would be troublesome if his apprentice got caught up in the next attack. Especially if Asman sent more men next time or outfitted them with firearms instead of swords.
Barok turned away, and his gaze caught on Naruhodo. "Are you still here? You're free to go if you've given your statement."
"Oh!" Naruhodo said, his gaze dropping unsubtly to the shadow of Barok's arm tucked beneath his cloak. "But I thought…"
"Nothing more is required of you this evening, unless the police have any last requests."
"No, sir," Weston said. "We can take care of things from here."
Barok eyed him contemplatively. The man seemed to be moving with a slight limp that suggested Barok's original uncharitable thoughts might have been more paranoia than fact.
"Is something the matter, Officer Weston?"
The man straightened up to attention, anxiety pinching his features tight again. "P-pardon, sir?"
"You were considerably late. Nearly ten minutes behind on your beat, if memory serves. I had intended to intercept you before these low-lifes gave up on stalking me and made a move, but you were not where I expected you to be."
Weston's face shone pale and bloodless in the dim light, and his eyes were round. "Very sorry, sir! I didn't realize– I mean– I didn't intend to abandon my post or anything like that. I just–"
"I am not accusing you of anything, Officer." Barok cast a glance at the second officer, who had paused to observe the interaction, expression torn between apprehension and dislike. "Merely wondering if there might be a good reason why you were late and had a companion on hand. You are usually very consistent in your work, which leads me to believe you may have encountered some sort of trouble."
"No, nothing like that, sir. It's just that I recently sprained my ankle, so I'm moving more slowly and Harrier has been tagging along to help with some duties I'm having trouble with."
Barok looked back at him with aggrieved disbelief. "For heaven's sake, man. What are you doing walking an entire beat on a sprained ankle? You're only going to damage it further. Have you not requested leave?"
Weston was looking more confused by the second. "I, ah… We're very busy and short-staffed right now, you see, and–"
Whatever other imbecilic excuses he might have come up with were cut short as a new set of heavy footfalls came charging down the street at a quick clip. Gregson turned the corner, spotted everyone clustered around, and hurried towards them.
"Lord van Zieks! I heard you had a couple of blokes botherin' you again." He paused, eyebrows knitting together in displeasure as he spotted Naruhodo. "What are you doin' here, sunshine? How's it that you're always in the thick of trouble?"
Naruhodo laughed nervously. "You know me—I always have the worst timing. I, um, accidentally stumbled into the middle of the fight. Lord van Zieks rescued me, though, so…"
Gregson looked between Barok and Naruhodo, brows rising precipitously up his forehead. "Is that so? Is anyone hurt?"
A knot was twisting in Barok's chest, tighter and tighter until something threatened to snap. He stared back at Gregson coldly.
"He is unharmed," he said evenly, even though he wanted nothing more than to yell and shake the detective by the shoulders until some answers fell out.
"And you?" Gregson was frowning at something. Barok followed his gaze to see that a few drops of blood had begun to seep from the sodden fabric of his cloak, dripping to the ground. He was starting to feel slightly lightheaded and hazy around the edges. "D'you need to visit the hospital? I could take you."
"That won't be necessary," Barok said with enough icy bitterness to draw Gregson up short.
Barok could barely stand to look at him. Recent suspicions had finally coalesced into a stone-cold certainty: Gregson was masterminding at least one branch of the Reaper killings.
They had worked together hundreds of times over the span of a decade. They had been friends once. Barok had learned a great deal from Gregson when he was still young and just starting out. They had a strong mutual respect and largely amicable working partnership. Even as Barok's faith in the world had eroded over the years, even as his youthful naiveté had hardened to jaded cynicism, Gregson had been one of the last people he had trusted, far past the point where he had viewed everyone else with suspicion.
And the whole time—all this time—Gregson had been working behind Barok's back to arrange the murders he would be blamed for. He had listened to London cursing Barok's name, seen the wounds and scars collected from dozens of attacks, watched Barok sink into a mire of isolation and paranoia. And he had kept going anyway.
Barok had no choice but to play along until he'd found the proof he needed, but he hated every second of it. He had spent so long searching for clues to the Reaper's identity, and he wished it had proven to be anyone else. He and Gregson hadn't been true friends in a long time now, but it still felt like he was losing something.
"Um," Weston piped up uncertainly, "Mr. Naruhodo mentioned that you took a deep cut to the arm while defending him, although you didn't make mention of it in your statement. Would you…like to amend your statement to include that?"
"I would not," Barok said irritably. "You don't need a record of every scratch."
"But–"
"Leave it off the charges, then."
He had no intention of publicizing his private medical information and was frankly annoyed that Naruhodo had blurted it out. Wounds were weaknesses, and weaknesses were targets. He didn't need rumors of his injuries spreading around, encouraging unsavory men to take advantage of his weakened state to try their hand at another attack. He was content to let London think that he was a little bit invincible, escaping unscathed no matter the odds he faced.
"You've got court in the mornin', don't you?" Gregson asked, eyeing Barok with a considering air, eyes gleaming in the dark. "Are you goin' to be fit to stand in the trial?"
Barok's hand tightened around his injury, eliciting another sharp stab of pain, and he pressed his folded arms ever tighter against his chest, contracting in on himself in his anger to smother the urge to strangle someone else.
"Have I ever failed to appear in court?" he asked, affronted.
"Well, no, but–"
"If a bullet doesn't stop me from doing my job, a scratch certainly won't. I am well aware of my responsibilities, and I will fulfill them as always."
Gregson huffed out a breath like a sigh, and Barok watched him warily. Gregson had an uncanny habit of showing up awfully quickly in the wake of such attacks, at least if the police were alerted to them. It was unclear if this was out of guilt that Barok was suffering injuries meant for him or because he derived some twisted satisfaction from gloating about it. Barok had always assumed Gregson was looking out for him out of respect for their erstwhile friendship or working partnership, but that was before he knew any better. Every one of Gregson's motives and actions had to be viewed with suspicion now.
"Beggin' your pardon," Gregson said tiredly. "I'm only sayin', you look like you're about to topple over, and I wasn't too keen on you runnin' about investigations and headin' trials with that bullet hole either."
This, Barok felt sure, was an exaggeration. He might be starting to feel a bit hazy and nauseated, but he was certain that he wasn't showing it. And as the gunshot wound had healed long ago, he didn't see the relevance in taking a stand on it now.
"Your concern has been duly noted," Barok said stiffly. "Now, if there's nothing else…? I trust you have enough information to work with, and I have pressing matters to take care of this evening. If you have further questions, I will be available after tomorrow's trial."
Gregson sighed again. "Goodnight to you, then. Don't let us keep you." He scowled in Naruhodo's direction. "And what about you, sunshine? D'you want me to see you home? Nasty night out tonight. One of the lads can take you. Make sure you don't find yourself some more trouble along the way."
"O-oh," Naruhodo stammered, sounding surprised. As well he might, given Gregson's surly glower. "That's very kind, but–"
"That won't be necessary," Barok said, sliding sideways to hover behind Naruhodo and clamp his hands firmly on the man's shoulders. Naruhodo squeaked in surprise, but Barok's flat gaze was fixed on Gregson. "I'll do it myself."
Gregson's eyebrows jumped up his forehead with alacrity. "No need to trouble yourself with such trivial details. We can take care of this ragabash."
Not likely. Barok certainly didn't trust Gregson, and with the inspector compromised, he didn't trust anyone else at the Yard either. Naruhodo had been a thorn in Gregson's side from the start, and never more so than when he had unearthed the inspector's illicit deal with Graydon in the witness stand during the Windibank trial and subsequently demanded to play music disks potentially containing encoded government secrets before the entire court. Gregson had faced his own share of troubles arising from this incident, and Barok doubted he was inclined to look favorably upon the foreign troublemaker at the moment. Barok doubted Gregson felt favorably towards him either, given his refusal to concede to Scotland Yard's demands for secrecy and reluctant support for Naruhodo's methods of uncovering the truth.
While Barok thought it unlikely that Gregson would mastermind Naruhodo's murder when presented the opportunity to be alone with him in the night-dark streets, it seemed unwise to take the chance. Barok had not had his arm carved open just to have Naruhodo slain anyway. That would make the injury he'd sustained entirely pointless. Naruhodo could fend for himself once they'd parted ways, but Barok wasn't taking any more chances for tonight.
"What's the matter?" Barok asked. "You aren't seriously worried I might take the opportunity to slit his throat, are you? If I wanted him dead, he'd be dead already."
"Hold up!" Gregson said quickly, raising his hands as if to fend off the accusation. "That's not what I was drivin' at, not at all. I know you're not roamin' about offin' unsuspectin' folk in the streets."
"Do you?" Barok asked softly, fingers tightening around Naruhodo's shoulders until the man made another undignified squeaking sound. "Everyone else thinks otherwise. What might you know that they don't, to make you so sure?"
He held Gregson's gaze, daring him to admit the truth. He wouldn't, of course, and Barok couldn't do more than hint obliquely until he had the proof he needed. He could make Gregson squirm a little, but it would be foolish to reveal how much he knew. But the reckoning was coming. One day soon, Barok would finally have the opportunity to confront Gregson. To ask him why. He hungered for that day, but he dreaded it too. He wasn't sure he'd like Gregson's answers. Maybe he really didn't want to know what Gregson thought of him, terrible as it must be to justify this decade-long torture.
Gregson blinked back at him uncertainly, gears turning behind his eyes as he sensed some hidden undertone and tried to decipher what it might mean. In the end, he seemed to give up on the venture. If he suspected Barok might be closing in on the truth, he didn't give any sign of it.
Gregson sighed heavily. "At least let me call you a carriage."
"Thank you, Inspector, but that will not be necessary." Barok slid backwards a couple of steps, dragging Naruhodo with him. "We've no intention of obstructing the Yard's work or wasting your valuable time. I will handle the matter myself."
Gregson hummed a displeased sound in the back of his throat. "I don't s'pose I could dissuade you. But I do hope you'll consider visitin' the hospital if you got stuck badly enough."
Barok followed the detective's gaze down to the hands holding firmly to Naruhodo's shoulders. Barok's gloves were wet and sticky, appearing black in the dark instead of their usual pearly white.
"Your suggestion is noted," he said, backing away at a steady, unhurried pace and towing Naruhodo along. "Oh, and Inspector? See to it that Officer Weston is put on medical leave or office duty until his ankle heals."
Gregson's eyebrows climbed up his forehead once more, and the bobbies behind him started in surprise.
"We're short-handed at the Yard," Gregson said. "We don't have much time for lollygaggin' or–"
"You are exacerbating your staffing issues with this nonsense. If he worsens his injury, he will face more serious repercussions and eventually be forced on a much longer leave of absence. And if he requires a second officer to accompany him on his beat, Scotland Yard is not saving much on manpower, is it? Your approach is shortsighted."
"Well!" Gregson sputtered, face reddening with outrage. "Isn't that a fine accusation! Beggin' your pardon, sir, but you don't have the authority–"
"Let me rephrase," Barok said flatly. "Make the necessary arrangements, or I will twist some arms at the Yard. If I have to take time away from my cases to attend to the matter myself, I will personally ensure that everyone finds the process as tedious and aggravating as I do."
Weston exchanged a startled look with the other officer. Gregson opened his mouth and then closed it again, shaking his head.
"Very well," he grumbled. "If you deem it that important."
"I do."
"I'll see it gets done."
"Good. Then we shall be on our way. Goodnight."
Barok turned, spinning Naruhodo firmly about and shoving him forward down the street. When he was sure the man was following of his own volition, he dropped his hands away and surreptitiously folded his cloak around his injury to apply pressure again. He had the urge to give his hands a thorough washing, as if that might remove the lingering sense of distaste at having to physically touch his Nipponese rival, but he had more urgent matters to attend to first.
"Bit of a hypocrite, that one," Gregson muttered under his breath behind them. "Bloomin' outrage, it is."
"Keep up," Barok said shortly as he strode down the street at a brisk pace.
Naruhodo's footsteps tapped across the pavement behind him as he trotted to catch up. "Oh, ah, yes, of course. You're very fast, though, so maybe–"
"If you fall behind, you will be on your own. Keep up."
"Er, right, but… Really, I can get home on my own. I mean, I'm not lost or anything. Probably. Wait, maybe we've gotten turned around. I already passed the shop with the boarded-up window, so I was expecting to see the broken lamppost by now."
Barok peered down every street they crossed, looking for any sign of a passing carriage. He wished Naruhodo would cease his asinine babble for once so that he could better listen for the sound of wheels and hooves against the cobblestones. The hour was late enough that there would be a greatly reduced number of carriages in the streets.
"Has it not occurred to you that the lamppost might have been fixed?" he asked. "It's foolish to base your sense of direction on a set of temporary and changing landmarks."
Naruhodo laughed nervously. "I guess that's possible. Er… I appreciate you helping me out, but I think I can handle it from here. You really don't have to–"
Barok stopped abruptly and turned back to glare at Naruhodo, who tripped over his own feet as he stumbled to a stop. "I will hail you a carriage, and then we will part ways and never speak of this again. I told Inspector Gregson that I would see to the matter of your safe passage home, and you will not make a liar of me. Allowing you to stumble through the streets in the dark, searching for the way back, is unfortunately not compatible with the agreement I made, or rest assured that it would be my first choice. Do you understand?"
Naruhodo stared back with wide eyes, that same look of a lamb being led to slaughter that he so often wore in the courtroom. "Y-yes, perfectly clear! No stumbling or talking about this again. Got it."
It would have to do. Barok turned back around and started down the street again. Perhaps Naruhodo did better appreciate his position, as he fell blessedly quiet and kept his mouth shut for once.
The clatter of wheels on pavement caught Barok's attention, but it was an omnibus that turned the corner and trundled down the street. His anticipation waned abruptly as he dismissed the contraption and forged on. His growing sense of urgency pushed his pace just a little faster and lengthened his strides.
His lightheadedness and nausea were waxing more pronounced, lapping at him like the edges of waves readying to pull him under, and his hand clamped tighter and tighter around his wound until stars fizzled at the edges of his vision. His fingers were slick with blood, his gloves clinging to them with the unpleasant sodden squelch of damp fabric. He needed to take care of his injury soon, before his composure began slipping. He really didn't have time to play these nonsense games with Naruhodo and Gregson.
"Um…" Naruhodo ventured uncertainly. "How about that omnibus? I can take that."
"No," Barok said without looking at him.
He had always been wary of traveling in enclosed spaces with strangers, and McGilded's untimely demise in one such contraption had not buoyed his confidence.
Naruhodo heaved a soft groan of longing or disagreement, but wisely kept his thoughts to himself.
It took another few minutes before they ran across a carriage. Barok hailed the driver and spoke with him for a moment to get a feel for the man and make sure he didn't trigger any warning bells. When Naruhodo moved to board the carriage, Barok called him back.
"Wait here," he said shortly, shouldering past the impetuous young lawyer to board first.
He made a quick study of the interior—checking that no one was lurking inside, ensuring no strange or potentially incendiary devices were tucked in shadowed corners, tugging at the seats to make sure no one was stuffed inside hidden storage compartments—before disembarking once more. He had always been careful, but McGilded's fiery death in the omnibus had exacerbated his paranoia.
"It's safe," he said. "Give your address–"
"I live with Mr. Sholmes and Iris," Naruhodo announced. "Over on–"
"For heaven's sake!" Barok barked, drawing the fool up short. "Do you often go giving out your address to everyone you meet on the street?"
Confusion etched itself across Naruhodo's face. "Um, no, but you said to give my address–"
"To the driver. So that he knows where to take you. Honestly, have you no sense of self-preservation? Frankly, I have no interest in where you lodge or with whom—although close proximity with Mr. Sholmes might offer an explanation for the proliferation of your many absurdities—and you should not be so quick to hand out personal information to suspected murderers, people who despise you, or people you don't trust, much less anyone who checks every box. Honestly."
"Oh," Naruhodo said in a small voice. "I see. Although I don't really think you'd–"
"This is where we part ways," Barok interrupted. Naruhodo's lack of sense was not his problem. "Give your address to the driver and go straight home. Next time, think twice before roaming rough parts of town after dark if you don't possess the skills to keep yourself out of trouble."
He turned on his heel and strode away, washing his hands of the affair.
"Wait!" Naruhodo called after him, footsteps pattering across the cobblestones.
Barok did not pause. His vision was starting to tunnel in a very strange way that did not bode well, and pain had him grinding his teeth until his jaw ached. He had wasted too much time on this farce already. He should have just left Naruhodo to fend for himself, but… It didn't sit right with him to leave someone in a dangerous situation, particularly if they were unaware of the threat. But he did wish it had been anyone else he'd been forced to babysit tonight.
"Lord van Zieks!" Naruhodo insisted. "What about you? Don't you need a carriage too?"
"If I want a carriage, I surely don't need your assistance to hail it."
"Oh, of course not! I'm sure you're very capable! You seem very skilled at hailing carriages, of course. I only meant…"
He trailed off as Barok turned back to fix him with a withering glare. Naruhodo withered appropriately in response.
"I'm flattered you think so highly of my carriage-hailing skill," Barok said icily. "I always considered it one of my greatest strengths."
Naruhodo's face darkened, the color of his flush stolen away by the shadows. "That's, uh, not exactly what I meant? Sorry, that came out wrong. I just meant–"
"Go home and stop hassling me."
This time, Naruhodo was not cowed enough to comply. "You should really get medical attention for your arm, right? Ideally as soon as possible? Why don't you just ride with me? We can go to the hospital first, and then I can take it home after."
Barok could think of nothing he'd like less in this moment than to share a carriage with a talkative Nipponese lawyer whilst shaking in pain.
"No thank you," he said. "I will arrange my own transportation."
"But it took us a while to find this carriage," Naruhodo began in a carefully reasonable tone that annoyed Barok more than his nervous rambling ever had. "What if it takes a long time to find another? It would be awful if you succumbed to your injuries out in the streets because you couldn't make it to the hospital in time." Barok's eye twitched, and perhaps Naruhodo noticed because he began speaking quickly again, words tripping off his tongue like he was trying to spit them out before he was cut off. "A-anyway, we could split the fare! It's really a win-win for both of us, don't you think?"
Barok was amazed by the inanity of the man's logic. "Split the fare?" he echoed derisively.
A carriage fare was hardly a heavy financial burden. Although he supposed that if Naruhodo was on a small student's stipend, perhaps the suggestion made more sense to him.
"Or, well, you know, the other bit," Naruhodo mumbled, scratching at the back of his head with an awkward chuckle.
Barok considered him. Unfortunately, the logic was sound up until the babbling about fares. A chill had begun stealing through his bones, radiating from his arm, and the pain was sending little shivers through him.
He pulled his cloak away from his arm to peer at the wound critically, but it was difficult to make out much in the dim light. He twisted the sodden fabric in his hands, wringing it out. Blood spattered the pavement, puddling at his feet. It was an unfortunate amount.
Naruhodo's eyes went wide. "Um, I really think–"
"Perhaps it's not the most nonsensical of your suggestions," Barok said grudgingly, unwilling to admit the man might be right. He wrapped his cloak more securely around his arm. "Very well. If you can bear my company a few minutes longer, I will accompany you as far as the hospital."
A small frown puckered Naruhodo's lips. "I'm afraid your tolerance might run out before mine does. And it would be rude of me to say anything when you're only in this position because of me."
Barok sighed and brushed past Naruhodo, heading back towards the carriage. "It's just a formality, my learned friend. It doesn't matter to me what you think."
"Oh."
Barok gave the driver directions while Naruhodo boarded the carriage, then followed behind. He took the step up too quickly and stumbled as a wave of dizziness crashed over him. His head spun, and he groped blindly for the wall while hugging his injured arm closer to his chest. Something brushed his shoulder, and he flinched away. Naruhodo had stood to reach out, hands questing aimlessly as if hoping to offer support. As if Barok might need his help.
"Don't touch me," Barok spat.
"Sorry!" Naruhodo said, retreating again.
Barok glared after him for good measure. He hated being touched. It always set off warning bells in his head, making him tense in anticipation of attack. Naruhodo seemed an unlikely choice of candidate to go on the offensive, but Barok had misjudged people before. He didn't entirely understand the man's insistence on accompanying him to the hospital or why he had placed himself in danger by interfering with the attack in the first place, and he never trusted motives he didn't understand.
Collapsing into the seat across from Naruhodo, he stared out the window and focused on his breathing until his vision began to clear again. The carriage began rolling, and for a blessed few seconds, the clattering of the wheels was the only noise to break the silence. But of course, Naruhodo could never keep his mouth closed for long.
"So…" Naruhodo said, drawing out the word like he was searching for a topic of conversation in blatant disregard of Barok's obvious desire to be left alone. "You have a trial tomorrow? Is it…an interesting case?" He waited hopefully for a moment, but when it became clear Barok had no intention of answering, he pressed on. "Oh, of course you don't have to talk about it. I'm just interested in knowing what I've been missing out on, I guess. It's been strange to be out of court so long. I've been mostly doing a lot of self-study. Looking up precedent cases and law treatises and the like. I suppose I'll have to come up with a new plan now, though… I lost a book at the library today, except it turned out not to be lost at all, but a lady thought I was trying to look up her skirt when I was searching on the floor, and I don't think I can ever show my face there again."
"…That's not very gentlemanly of you."
"But I wasn't!" Naruhodo sputtered. "It was a total misunderstanding! And I– Ooh, I really wasn't planning on telling anyone that. I don't know why I said that. I'm rambling now." He laughed nervously. "Enough about that. Did you really get shot? When did that happen? What–?"
"Do you ever stop talking?" Barok asked grimly. The nervous prattle was burrowing beneath his skin and itching like nettles, and it was beyond unbearable when it turned Barok into the object of its attention.
"Oh," Naruhodo said with another strained chuckle. "Not very often, I'm told."
"Perhaps now would be an ideal time to practice."
"Wow, you are so right! I'll just… Right."
He fell silent. Barok appreciated the quiet, even if Naruhodo kept fidgeting in very distracting and vexing ways. It didn't seem worth the energy to snap at him, so Barok stared fixedly out the window and tried to ignore the motion in his peripheral vision.
He swallowed hard against a wave of nausea exacerbated by the rocking of the carriage and tightened his grip around the wound until the pain made static float across his vision. His breathing hitched raggedly, and he fought to get it back under control before it caught Naruhodo's attention.
Finally, the brick façade of the hospital came into view. Barok was on his feet the moment the carriage lurched to a stop.
"Here." He fished in his pocket and handed a coin to Naruhodo.
"What…?"
"Splitting the fare," he said dryly.
Naruhodo winced. "This is really too much for–"
"I have neither the time nor patience to haggle with you. Go home."
Barok disembarked without a backwards look.
"Er… Goodnight?" Naruhodo called after him.
Ignoring him, Barok stalked into St. Synner's and presented himself at reception. In a matter of minutes, he was ushered back to a room, a doctor leaning over him.
Barok gritted his teeth against the sting as the injury was cleaned, and then against the pain of every stitch going into his arm and tugging at his skin. He held very still while the doctor worked. He wasn't going to give anyone the satisfaction of seeing him squirm.
The ordeal dragged on for several minutes, and then he sat through the doctor bandaging the wound and prattling on about care directions as if Barok wasn't already intimately familiar with caring for his own injuries. By the end of it, though, his tension had begun to ease. Everything hurt and he still felt a touch lightheaded, but he was no longer in imminent danger of bleeding out. He could handle discomfort with considerably more grace once the immediate danger had been dealt with.
He thanked the doctor graciously and drifted back to reception. He was exhausted and achy and still faintly nauseous, and all he wanted to do was go home and sleep like the dead for a few hours before he had to get up for court in the morning.
He stepped into the lobby of the building and stopped short. Naruhodo was perched on the edge of a chair against the far wall, eyes darting every which way and leg jiggling up and down at high speed. When he caught sight of Barok, he went very still for the briefest moment and then jumped to his feet.
"Lord van Zieks!"
Barok didn't understand why he should sound as if he were the one surprised by an unexpected encounter. It seemed like tonight's ordeal was not over quite yet.
"What are you doing here?" van Zieks asked. "I seem to recall sending you back off to Mr. Sholmes's residence…"
Ryunosuke swallowed hard and bit back nervous laughter. He had convinced himself this was a terrible idea a dozen times while waiting, but he hadn't quite gotten around to actually leaving.
"And I'm going!" he said quickly. "Er, just the roundabout way. Very sorry to have… Um, anyway, I thought I'd wait for you?"
Van Zieks stared at him. "Why?"
He was as cold and imposing as ever, but his tone lacked some of the sharp edges from earlier. Maybe the doctor had given him something to dull the pain and it had improved his temper as well. Not that Ryunosuke expected any reprieve to last long.
"It seemed like the right thing to do," he said. "I mean… If you're hurt badly enough to be in the hospital, you should have someone to check up on you, right?" Van Zieks's stare was blank. His brows drew together in a pale reflection of bewilderment. Ryunosuke hurried to add, "Anyway, it's my fault you got hurt since you were protecting me, so…"
Van Zieks dragged a hand across his face, and Ryunosuke thought that he looked very tired. "It was not out of kindness, and so you owe me no kindnesses in return. I don't need your assistance or your concern."
"Well, even so. I thought we might, uh…share a carriage again?" Ryunosuke winced when van Zieks fixed him with a look of disbelief. "I asked the driver to wait outside, so you wouldn't have to wait to find a carriage of your own! And you already checked that one to be sure it was, uh, safe, I guess? So you can get home much faster without having to find another!"
"You've left him waiting outside all this time?" van Zieks demanded. "You do know he is charging for the delay? Now the fare will be three times as high as it should have been."
Ryunosuke winced. He had been so wrapped up in his dread of facing van Zieks again that he had not considered such finer details. He quailed to think how much he might have to cough up. His budget was going to be very tight this month.
"That's…fine," he said, striving for nonchalance and hoping he didn't look as pained as he felt. "No problem at all! Sorry to bother you again, but… I'd feel better knowing you were doing fine, so…"
"I am fine, and you can take my word for it," van Zieks said, but it didn't have any bite to it this time. He sighed and kneaded at his temple as if Ryunosuke was giving him a headache. "Now you really will need to split the fare," he said with resignation.
"No, no, no!" Ryunosuke said hurriedly, flapping his hands in a panic. The last thing he needed was for van Zieks to think he was taking advantage of him. Relations were already strained enough. "I was the one who asked him to wait instead of just going home, so I'll take care of it."
Van Zieks turned away, shaking his head, and exchanged a few words in a low voice with the woman sitting behind the desk. Ryunosuke shifted anxiously from foot to foot, stymied by the offhand dismissal and increasingly worried about what van Zieks might do.
Van Zieks started across the room, brushing past Ryunosuke without looking at him. "Come."
Ryunosuke hesitated but then scurried after him. Whatever the consequences, he was committed now.
When he stepped outside, van Zieks was already talking to the driver and passing over coins that glinted in the lamplight. "Thank you for your patience. This should cover the fare. Kindly start by–"
"Wait!" Ryunosuke said, rushing after him. "I can–"
"Get in the carriage," van Zieks said flatly, not even sparing him a glance.
Ryunosuke drew in a breath to protest, but then thought better of it and boarded the carriage. He fidgeted in his seat, eyes glued to the door.
When van Zieks stepped inside a moment later, he seemed perfectly poised and placid in stark contrast to Ryunosuke's nerves. His injured arm looked stiff and immobile at his side, fixed in place, but then his cloak fell back over it, hiding it from view. He sat down across from Ryunosuke, folded his hands in his lap, and looked out the window.
"You really don't have to–" Ryunosuke started.
"We will drop you off at Mr. Sholmes's residence first, as Baker Street is closer than the manor."
Ryunosuke paused, frowning. "Do you know where Mr. Sholmes lives?"
"All of London knows where Mr. Sholmes lives," van Zieks said dryly. "His ward has published the address in Randst."
"Oh. I see."
Somehow, Ryunosuke had not considered this. Every time he told someone he was staying with Sholmes, he was putting himself on the map. This might not have bothered him if van Zieks hadn't just taken him to task for giving out personal information to the wrong people.
He searched for something else to say, eager to avoid another scolding on the subject.
"How is your arm?" he asked. "Will it be alright?"
"Yes."
"Did it need many stitches?"
"Yes."
Ryunosuke hesitated, picking restlessly at his sleeve and shifting on the bench. The short answers were not as acerbic as earlier, but they were still curt and seemed better inclined to end a conversation than keep it going.
"I, uh…just wanted to say a proper thank you. For saving me and all. Even though you don't like me much and got hurt for your trouble. I'm really grateful that you rescued me and…helped me after."
Van Zieks's gaze slid sideways and came to rest on Ryunosuke. His expression was unreadable, cool and impassive.
"As I said, it was not out of the kindness of my heart," he said, dispassionate and matter-of-fact. "It was a matter of practical necessity and nothing more."
"Still, you didn't actually have to, so…"
Van Zieks returned his gaze to the window. "Don't turn it into something it's not. I don't need your gratitude. If you get anything out of the experience, let it be a renewed sense of caution and common sense. It's not safe to wander the streets after dark. You've already had a brush with assassins and a close call with the Reaper, which I hope should satisfy your craving for excitement."
"Er, I didn't realize this counted as a close call," Ryunosuke said apprehensively. "You wouldn't actually…? Um, never mind. Got it. I don't like excitement at all. I'm a very boring person, really."
In the glass, he caught a distorted reflection of van Zieks's lips twisting in a wry sort of grimace that had a sardonic edge to it, as if he was darkly amused by a joke only he understood. A silly notion, perhaps. Ryunosuke wasn't sure van Zieks found anything particularly amusing.
He wasn't sure what to make of the statement. He couldn't quite envision van Zieks actually murdering people, not after seeing how strictly ethical and devoted to justice he was in the courtroom, but the man could certainly be forbidding enough to plant seeds of doubt. Still, he didn't think van Zieks would actually hurt him. Snap at him and insult him, yes, but those discourtesies would be confined to the realm of ugly words and dark looks.
"Well, I'm not afraid," he announced more boldly than he felt.
"Then perhaps you should pay more attention."
This somehow had a ring of warning to it. Ryunosuke turned the words over and over for a few seconds before giving up on it. He wasn't sure he'd ever understand van Zieks.
"Why were you out wandering the streets, then?" he asked, genuinely curious. "If it's so dangerous?"
"I know how to take care of myself."
"Surely, it must be safer and more convenient to just take a carriage, though?"
Van Zieks's breath escaped in a small sigh. Ryunosuke did not entirely expect an answer, given how quickly van Zieks had shut down attempts at conversation earlier, but after a long moment of silence, the prosecutor deigned to respond.
"I noticed my pursuers right away when I left the office. If I hailed a carriage, they might have gone on the offensive then and there, and the driver might have gotten caught up in it. It's best to limit the risk of civilians getting mixed up in such altercations."
"And then I showed up and ruined your plans anyway."
"…That is what you do best."
"Sorry," Ryunosuke said sheepishly.
"It doesn't matter, I suppose. I'm familiar with the beats in the area and expected to get aid from the officer on patrol, but he was late to the scene and you arrived first. So I suppose it wasn't entirely your fault this time, although you do have a knack for popping up at the most inopportune moments."
This was more conciliatory than Ryunosuke might have expected. He frowned at van Zieks, puzzled, but no answers were forthcoming. Van Zieks's thoughts and motivations were as inscrutable as ever.
This entire night felt somehow surreal. Ryunosuke wouldn't have expected van Zieks to come to his aid. Even if van Zieks might have felt compelled to step in to prevent Ryunosuke from being gutted in the fight he'd accidentally stumbled into, there had been no obligation to provide any additional assistance afterwards. Van Zieks had said his actions weren't motivated by kindness, and he had never seemed like a particularly kind person to start with. Still…
"Speaking of that officer…" Ryunosuke said. "Why were you so insistent that he go on medical leave?"
Van Zieks hesitated as if sensing a trap, eyes narrowing in the glass. "I meant exactly what I said. He will be indisposed far longer if he further injures himself, and we already don't have enough officers to handle Yard business. It's a matter of practical necessity."
Ryunosuke's frown deepened. There it was again. Practical necessity. It was all so neatly logical, strictly adhering to some unwritten code irrespective of any personal feelings or agency.
"I ran across Officer Beate on his rounds last week," he said. "I was glad to see he still had his job despite all that mess about tampering with the crime scene. He spoke very highly of you, you know. He credited you for letting him keep his job."
Van Zieks's gaze sharpened, the corners of his mouth hooking into a scowl, but his tone was even when he spoke. "I'm flattered you believe I have so much power, but I don't have any authority over the Yard. He is mistaken. Scotland Yard staffing decisions are outside my jurisdiction."
Ryunosuke wasn't sure how much of that he believed. Van Zieks might not have any official authority over Scotland Yard, but he seemed to hold a great deal of influence regardless. Gregson had always treated him with deference, particularly in the courtroom, and van Zieks had seemed very confident in being obeyed when he ordered that the officer just now be placed on leave or confined to sedentary duties. It sounded like he knew how to get his way and pull some strings behind the scenes.
"Maybe not," Ryunosuke conceded. "But it seems like your opinion carries a lot of weight. You didn't recommend that he be allowed to keep his job?"
Van Zieks hesitated and then said, slowly, "I didn't recommend that he lose his job."
This wasn't quite a straight answer, and it only intrigued Ryunosuke more.
"Why not? You're very particular about ethics and legality. Tampering with a crime scene is a serious offense. A fireable offense, I'd think."
"…As you may have gathered, Scotland Yard is facing a staffing shortage. Their officers and detectives have extremely difficult jobs, and few people are up to the task. Officer Beate has an exemplary record besides this unfortunate lapse, and he made a convincing show of repentance. We cannot afford to lose good officers, and the decision was made to allow him to remain at his post. The Yard's decision."
Ryunosuke considered this. "It was a matter of practical necessity, then?"
The scowl broke loose in earnest, and van Zieks turned a flinty, unamused glare on Ryunosuke. "Do not mock me."
"I'm not!" Ryunosuke said quickly, afraid that he had provoked the full, unfiltered brunt of van Zieks's hostility again just when they had achieved some measure of reluctant civility. "Promise! I was just thinking, well, even if you weren't necessarily doing it out of kindness, you did really help me and those bobbies when you didn't have to. Practical necessity or not, it's still rather nice of you."
Ryunosuke wondered if maybe van Zieks was a little bit kind after all, in a secretive, unfriendly way. But if he really was just doing it for the sake of practicality… If someone did kind things without intending to be kind, just because they thought it was the right thing to do even if they didn't want to, did that negate the kindness factor entirely or still make them a kind person? Choosing to do a kind act despite obvious aversion seemed like its own kindness, in a practical, hard-edged sort of way. Then again, if someone did a kind thing in a very unkind way, what about then? Was an unkind kindness still a kindness? Or…?
Ryunosuke heaved a sigh and rubbed his forehead. He was giving himself a headache. Maybe he should lay off the philosophy for the night.
Van Zieks scoffed and returned his gaze to the window. "You will become the laughingstock of London if you spout such nonsense. If you are not already."
Ryunosuke couldn't tell if van Zieks truly thought it such a ridiculous idea that he might display any sort of kindness or if he merely didn't want anyone else to think it possible, but either way, he was vehement about it. Ryunosuke foresaw a precipitous deterioration of relations if he continued pressing the point.
"Well, anyway… I'll just…be quiet, I guess?"
"Splendid. It seems you do learn after all."
Ryunosuke sighed and looked out his own window, leg jiggling anxiously. Van Zieks's tone wasn't as sharp as earlier despite the words, which seemed like a small win. Ryunosuke wished Susato was here to smooth things over or take control of the situation. She was so much better at it, and he was afraid that anything he might say would only make things worse again.
By some miracle, he managed to keep his mouth shut until the carriage tipped around the corner to trundle down Baker Street. Once or twice he found himself drawing in a breath to blurt out something that would undoubtedly rile his prickly companion up again, but succeeded in stopping himself. Van Zieks said not a word.
Ryunosuke shifted in anticipation as they approached the flat, eager to escape the tension clotting the air inside the carriage.
"You are surely aware that most trials in the Old Bailey are open to the public?" van Zieks asked.
Ryunosuke nearly jumped out of his skin. His head whipped around. Van Zieks was watching him, eyes glittering faintly in the dark. His expression was neutral, bland in a way that felt carefully cultivated to conceal whatever might lie beneath.
"I, uh… What?" Ryunosuke said stupidly, caught off guard.
"The trials are open to the public," van Zieks repeated without any discernible change in tone, passing up the opportunity to insult Ryunosuke's witlessness. "You might not have license to practice, but you are not barred from spectating. If you find yourself at a dead end in the library, you might consider keeping abreast of current courtroom proceedings and strategies. Observation is an important part of education."
Ryunosuke blinked at him, flabbergasted. "You want me to come to your trial tomorrow?"
"It is not an invitation. It is merely a statement of fact. You ought to know this already. There are many other prosecutors in the capital. Perhaps you might start with them rather than plaguing me with your presence."
Ryunosuke chuckled nervously but broke off when van Zieks glowered at him. "Oh, um… That's a great idea. I should have thought of that. I'm surprised you would bring it up when you'd be happier if I never received permission to practice again."
Van Zieks scoffed lightly. "You are as stubborn and indestructible as a cockroach. I doubt it will be so easy to get rid of you. You'll show up in court again sooner or later, and when that day comes, perhaps it will be less aggravating if you have improved your skill enough to outgrow your preferred method of wild conjecture and baseless accusations. It will help trials run more smoothly, at any rate."
The carriage gave a small lurch and came to a stop outside Sholmes's flat. Ryunosuke stayed seated, cocking his head as he considered van Zieks.
"So it's a matter of practical necessity, is it?" he asked with a small smile.
"Get out," van Zieks said, mouth twisting into a scowl once more as he turned his head away towards the window. "I am not in the mood to deal with Mr. Sholmes's prattling tonight. Kindly disembark so I can be on my way before he realizes I'm here."
Ryunosuke stood, but hovered in the doorway. Van Zieks had leaned his forehead against the glass, eyes fluttering closed as if he had already dismissed his companion. Or as if he was exhausted and in a great deal of pain after tonight's ordeal.
Ryunosuke took a deep breath. "You paid the fare," he said. "Maybe there was cause the first time, but the second time wasn't a practical necessity."
A displeased sound worked its way out of the back of van Zieks's throat. Ryunosuke laughed softly to himself and hurried from the carriage before van Zieks could deny this too.
The truth was, Ryunosuke could see the logic in van Zieks rescuing him from assassins and even making sure that police officers were able to do their jobs effectively. It was harder to explain away why the man might insist on seeing him safely home instead of letting the Yard handle it when Gregson had offered, although van Zieks would undoubtedly be able to offer a reasonable excuse. It was even harder to justify van Zieks's advice and invitation to observe trials, despite his stated reasoning. But there was absolutely no reason for van Zieks to have paid that carriage fare in full when he was perfectly able to leave Ryunosuke to the mess he'd created and find his own way home like he obviously wanted to. Such a small thing had very little relevance to anything as lofty as practical necessity.
And it was a small thing. A very small kindness that probably meant nothing to a man as wealthy as van Zieks, even if it was a much bigger deal to someone struggling to make ends meet on a student's stipend. But van Zieks had still done it, even though there was no reason for him to. Doing the logically right thing was one thing, but doing something with no immediate moral obligation was another. Unnecessary kindnesses were not often afforded to people deemed subhuman.
It did not excuse van Zieks's hostility or prejudice or make him suddenly seem like a very nice person, but it did make him seem a little more human. And it made Ryunosuke feel like maybe van Zieks saw him as human too, despite the gulf between them. It was small, but it was something.
Their next encounter, whenever that might be, would undoubtedly be just as unfriendly and fraught with tension as any other, but it was nice to have had a halfway truce for one night. This was not the way Ryunosuke would have expected a close call with the Reaper to have gone.
He rushed inside the flat and shut the door against all the dangers of the night, breathing a sigh of relief to be back in a warm bubble of safety and familiarity.
"Runo!" Iris cried. "Where have you been? You're so late!"
"We were fixing to send out a search party!" Sholmes said. "But it was delayed by dinner. I was very hungry."
Ryunosuke laughed awkwardly and scratched at the back of his head, wondering how he was supposed to explain any of this. "You would not believe the day I've had."
