Chapter Text
PROLOGUE
In which Dark Deeds are Afoot…
London had admitted at last to the sovereignty of night and was mostly sleeping, even the earliest of her markets silent as yet. The frenetic late-night pleasures of The Season were over for the year, though one or two of the Clubs along Pall Mall or in St James were still in sluggish operation. Those members of the ton who remained in Town despite the heat of high summer had long ago repaired for the night to the mansions and townhouses fringing agreeably tree-furnished squares, or lining wide and pleasant streets.
Even in the less fortunate districts—where dwellings were small and cramped, the streets narrow and dirty, and taverns dispensed the cheap oblivion of blue ruin half the night—the inhabitants were almost all abed already.
In the ordinary, modestly respectable parts of town lay many an ordinary, respectable street, wherein lived the majority of London’s industrious citizens. The doors to the public houses at their corners had been barred and shuttered for some hours, the patrons dispersed to their various snug homes to take an honest rest. An occasional feline slink—from one likely hunting run to another—seemed the only movement now.
The house possessed no feature to mark it out from its fellows. Like them, its door was solid and well kept, if verging toward the slightly shabby, its brass knocker just as polished as any. Understandably perhaps, at this late hour, no light spilled through the transom above nor from any of the windows—each one a covered blank, and heavily barred as if the owner may fear the incursion of thieves.
Darkness and silence were broken at length as a figure approached this most conventional of dwellings. With little more than the suggestion of a lurch—it would after all take vast quantities of liquor to incapacitate such a giant of a man—he made his way carelessly to the door as if it might be his own. On arrival, he did not produce a key as a householder might, instead leaning negligently and turning to observe the empty street behind him; ashamed, conceivably, should a neighbour peep from behind prim curtains to observe the unhappy result of a night’s distant carousing. When assured of privacy at last he reached into one pocket of his greatcoat.
Then shadow swirled behind him and as if from nowhere a second figure advanced, dark-cloaked and hooded—slight enough, when set beside the immense bulk of the other. Given the element of surprise, however, with the probable inebriation of the victim and a weapon at the ready, an attack with robbery in mind might indeed have proved successful.
But the large man was aware of the presence, it seemed, for he nodded before donning, briskly and quite soberly, a broad black mask to conceal his features as effectively as those of the newcomer were already hidden. He stood back, then, for his companion to raise a hand—startlingly pale amid so much darkness and shadow—and tap ceremoniously twice upon the sun-faded paint.
The door swung open immediately without a sound, though neither light nor servant appeared to welcome the visitors. One of the two spoke a single word into the waiting dark, the voice young and low and pleasant. They stepped within and the door was closed against the night; a click of locks—loud in such silence—indicating an attendant nonetheless. For several moments the blackness was absolute. Then a further door opened in the passage beyond, and the light of many candles spilled out to welcome them.
The room was close despite its size, the air being filled with pipe-smoke and candle-reek; containing little else by way of furniture, it was dominated by a large and handsome table, rectangular in shape and graced just now with a generous array of bottles and glasses.
Notwithstanding the lateness of the hour, a meeting of some sort was obviously underway, presided over by a portly gentleman whose delight in the pleasures of the table had perhaps overcome his discretion. At either hand sat other figures—a prosperous and varied company, six in all, amongst them one broad and extravagantly dressed woman who seemed determined to prove quite conclusively that a sufficiency of money would never quite compensate for the lack of taste. In only one respect did any of the six resemble their host: as with the visitors now standing at the table’s foot, the upper part of each face was neatly and effectively concealed behind a plain black mask.
‘Welcome, once again,’ said the portly man.
The smaller of the visitors inclined its head, and stepped up to the table. The position of the large man, now a respectful step or two to the rear, made clear at last his role as servant and bodyguard.
Seemingly from nowhere a small square box appeared and was set skimming easily along the table’s polished surface into the hands of the portly man. All eyes were upon him as he flicked open the clasp to reveal its contents.
He paused, disconcerted, as first a straw-coloured card emerged into view. Elegantly inscribed and gaily decorated with small motifs of a vivid scarlet, it failed unhappily of its message, since the reader had no written language other than English. He set it aside to gain full access.
‘As requested?’ the guest enquired then, sounding almost bored.
The answer came swiftly enough as the portly man held up the open jewel case. The glow of candlelight reflecting on the faces round the table was stained suddenly blood-red by what lay within. There were several sharp breaths, appreciatively indrawn, and one low whistle.
He slid the box to his right hand neighbour, a dry and stringy individual, for close inspection. Thin fingers scuttled forward possessively to pry the ruby carefully from its darkly velvet bed whilst the other hand produced a jeweller’s loupe and affixed it firmly at his eye. The examination may be for flaw or deception, but the scrutiny was long and loving, the fingers caressing as he gently turned it, revelling in the rich, warm glint that lurked deep within each separate facet. Eventually, at the sound of a clearing throat, he looked up and seemed to remember the task at hand. He gave a sharp nod and reluctantly returned the treasure.
‘Well, well—and not even reported missing as yet,’ said the portly man, almost jovial now. ‘A task very neatly accomplished, may I say?’
Again the head inclined, its owner obviously considering the remark gratuitous and therefore unworthy of reply.
Serious once more, the chairman replaced the priceless jewel in its box and formally addressed his seated fellows.
‘The Candidate here before us has requested admission to our Fellowship, and has fulfilled the requirement of entry with honours. Our dues are well paid, in stealth and in full. The Higher Passwords were already known.’ He frowned a little at that, unused to transfers from beyond the boundaries where the writ of their own council ran; these being infrequent during his term of office.
‘How say you, my Brothers?’
Madam bridled a little at that, though her pique seemed as much a part of tradition as the rising of each and the solemn pronouncement of ‘Aye!’ before the chime of their glasses. The chairman toasted his approval last of all to seal irrevocable acceptance.
Candidate no longer, the slender black-clad figure bowed acknowledgement, accepting an offer of wine in turn; as one now—for good or for ill, but forever—with the Brotherhood of Thieves of London Town.
Over the coming months, many a wealthy household would find itself the poorer for the attentions of this particular Brother. A name became legend amongst them, for their visitor was most scrupulous in every particular, and thanks were always rendered for predations discovered in their wake; theft, after all, being one thing, a failure of politeness quite another.
