CHAPTER
26
I RAN, LUNGS BURNING ALL the way. It seemed like the whole of London stared as I sprinted past, stinking of smoke and vinegar, coughing to hack up a lung. Still I ran, on the edge of panic, only one thought in my mind.
Blackthorn.
Home.
It didn’t matter that the shop wasn’t mine anymore. I didn’t know where else to go. Even if it hadn’t been Sunday, Isaac’s place was too close to Apothecaries’ Hall for me to go there now. Plus, I didn’t know how much I could trust the man. And I wasn’t welcome at Tom’s.
I gave myself an excuse to go home again: ingredients. I’d used up two more of the vials in Master Benedict’s sash in my escape. Without those, and the ingredients in the lab, Wat would, at this very moment, be slitting me open like a Sunday pig.
That wasn’t my only excuse. Tom’s place was on the way home from the Guild Hall. Maybe he’d be outside, and I could see him for a moment without his family around. He’d got in trouble because of me. I wanted to see him, say I was sorry. Say goodbye.
I had to be careful. I shuddered to think of what Tom’s father would do if he saw me. I’d have to be even more cautious about going home again. There was a good chance the shop was being watched. Wat and the others might be back at the Hall, but Stubb wasn’t. And if I’d learned one thing today, it was that anyone, anywhere, could be part of the Cult.
In the chaos, I’d forgotten that Lord Ashcombe was looking for me, too. I didn’t forget for long.
• • •
By the time I’d neared Tom’s place, I was so out of breath, I could barely walk. My back, protesting all the way, spasmed with every step. Just a few more streets to go, I told myself, and then I could rest. I was concentrating so hard on staying on my feet that I nearly ran into the lion’s den.
Tom was outside his house, but he wasn’t alone. Lord Ashcombe was there, too.
I nearly tripped on the cobbles. I stumbled to the safety of the doorway of a nearby jeweler and pressed my back against the wood, panting heavily, lungs on fire.
Lord Ashcombe wasn’t saying anything. Tom, on the other hand, was babbling. I was too far away to hear a word of it, but he looked terrified. Lord Ashcombe stared at him, black eyes piercing.
Keeping my head down, I crept into a nearby alley between the jeweler’s workshop and the ironmonger next door. Under better cover, I peeked my head out again. Lord Ashcombe was still listening as Tom ran his mouth. One of the King’s Men stepped from Tom’s home, carrying something. He gave it to Lord Ashcombe. The King’s Warden held it out wordlessly to my friend.
I caught the glint of sunlight off silvery metal. Lord Ashcombe was holding my puzzle cube.
Tom’s eyes went wide. He started babbling again, even faster than before. Slowly, Lord Ashcombe reached out with his free hand and grabbed Tom’s hair. He twisted, forcing Tom to his knees.
Tom’s mother ran from inside her home. She knelt in the mud next to her son, begging Lord Ashcombe, babbling as fast as Tom was. Tom’s father started in, too, face red and sweaty, gesturing angrily down the street, the way I’d left his house when he’d thrown me out. The King’s Warden barely acknowledged them, his eyes never leaving my friend’s.
Lord Ashcombe had to know I’d taken my puzzle cube, not Tom. According to the law, that didn’t matter. Finding it in Tom’s house marked him as a thief. The penalty for that was death.
I bowed my head. I couldn’t just leave Tom to Lord Ashcombe. If the King’s Warden was going to make someone take the blame for the theft, it had to be me.
I stepped into the street.
“Hello, Christopher,” a small voice said.
It came from behind me, back in the alley. I turned.
It was Molly. She smiled at me from the shadows, her mop of soft curls tumbling into her eyes. At four years old, she was young enough that she had trouble pronouncing some of her letters. Hewwo, Chwistophuh.
I blinked. “Molly?”
Her smile widened. “Come with me,” she said. Come wiff mee.
“I . . . I can’t,” I said, though I wished so much that I could. “Your brother’s in trouble. I have to help him—”
“No.” Molly reached out her small, delicate fingers and wrapped them around my hand. She tugged. “Come with me. You have to. Tom says.”
“I can’t.”
“Tom says.” She pulled as hard as she could, which didn’t budge me an inch. “Tom says. No. Noooo!” Molly started to cry as I took a step toward Lord Ashcombe. “I promised! Tom says!”
In the distance, Lord Ashcombe let go of Tom’s hair. It looked like Tom might faint. His mother seemed to be thanking the King’s Warden over and over again. Lord Ashcombe ignored her. He said something to Tom, and Tom nodded like mad. The King’s Men had already begun to talk to the neighbors, some of whom pointed in the same direction Tom’s father had, the way I’d left his house. It appeared Tom had convinced Lord Ashcombe that he really didn’t know where to find me.
The little girl yanking at my fingers seemed to tell a different story. “Come on,” Molly said. “Tom says.”
I waited a moment more, to see that Lord Ashcombe wouldn’t change his mind and haul Tom away after all. When he finally stalked off down the road, I sighed. “All right.”
• • •
As soon as I agreed to go, Molly’s mood changed instantly, as is the way with young children. Hot tears flipped to a gentle smile, which she kept as she wandered in front of me through London’s back alleys. She hummed to herself, occasionally skipping for a few paces, playing some unknown game.
“What were you doing in the alley?” I asked her.
“Finding you.” She looked up at me proudly. “Tom sent us to find you, when he seen the scary man come. But I did it.”
I put my arm around her shoulders and gave her a little hug. “You’re the best.” She beamed at me for a moment, head resting against my hip. Then she spotted a butterfly and chased it, jumping to try to catch it as it fluttered up into the air.
When I’d started following Molly, I’d assumed she was leading me around the long way to the back of Tom’s house—though God help me if either of his parents saw me now. But we just seemed to move aimlessly from alley to alley. Our trip was taking forever, we weren’t getting any closer to Tom’s place, and my back had had more than enough.
“Do you know where we’re going?” I said.
“Uh-huh.” Molly scanned the sky, hoping the butterfly would return. “Tom says take you to the Black House.”
“The Black House?” I didn’t recognize the name. “Who are the Blacks?”
Molly giggled. “Not Black, silly. Black.”
“I see,” I said, though it had been a long time since I’d understood four-year-old logic.
It didn’t take much longer to become clear. In the last of the uncountable alleys, we came upon . . . I didn’t know what to call it. It wasn’t a house anymore.
What had stood here had once been the largest home on the street. Last summer, a fire had gutted it. The top floor was completely gone. The second floor was halfway to ash, too, just bare, blackened walls and charred timbers piercing upward like giant toothpicks. In one corner, the bottom of the house had collapsed, leaving nothing but rubble and splintered oak.
The black house.
Cecily was in the alley. She paced, hands tugging at the front of her lavender dress. When she spotted me and Molly, she glanced over at the back door of the house. It hung loosely from a single wobbling hinge, swaying back and forth behind the man waiting for us.
Dr. Parrett smiled. “Welcome,” he said.