The Ink Master's Silence: Glass and Steele, #6 Page 5

  At least two dozen men were already there, mingling or hailing the serving woman as she passed between them. She stuffed the coins into her pockets and easily fended off the wandering hands of the men with a joke and a smile. None tried again, perhaps because there were as many thuggish guards stationed around the room's perimeter as there were patrons.

  Cyclops and Duke spoke to a man who pointed to the far side of the room. He ogled me as I passed and licked his lips. I wished I had a clock heavy enough to protect me if necessary, since I wasn't sure if my new watch could.

  Duke and Cyclops spoke with another man for some time. He stood back, studied them, and nodded before writing something down in his notebook. He indicated they should join two others standing by the wall.

  "Come on," Willie said to me. "They're all set. Let's get a place at the front. Somewhere we'll be covered in sweat and blood by the end of the night."

  "Perhaps somewhere in the second row will suffice," I said weakly.

  She shot me a grin over her shoulder. "Getting cold feet already, India?"

  "I just like this dress without stains." And I could imagine Matt's reaction when he saw me splattered in blood. I hoped we'd be home before him.

  Willie stopped at a line drawn in chalk on the floor. I realized it was connected to other lines to form a square. "The ring," Willie explained when I asked.

  "Shouldn't there be ropes around it?"

  "In official fights for proper boxers. This one's just for local lads to test themselves and earn a few shillings."

  "They're not fighting using Queensbury's rules then."

  "Nope." She rubbed her hands together. "Makes it more fun."

  And more dangerous.

  The crowd tripled in size over the next fifteen minutes. I had to guess the time that passed because I didn't want to pull my new watch from my reticule and risk catching the eye of a pick pocket. I already pegged one skinny youth as the light fingered type as he slipped between the patrons. I didn't see him steal anything, but once the fights began and the ale flowed, he'd be at an advantage.

  More spectators crowded into the room, and I could no longer see the door or Cyclops and Duke. Almost all of the patrons were men, but I was surprised to see two other women, both of whom were clearly ladies dressing plainly for the occasion. They sported the unmistakable stiff-backs and condescending air of the upper classes. No plain gowns could hide that. One even pressed a handkerchief to her nose. She removed it to speak to her companion, a gentleman with an oiled moustache and double chins.

  Like the rest of us, the party of four had to stand. They positioned themselves at the front to get the best view, earning mutters and eye-rolls from the people they'd displaced. I wondered if the presence of ladies dampened tempers, however, as none looked prepared to start a fight over it.

  An announcer took to the ring and demanded our attention for the parade of contestants. Two young men emerged through the crowd first, both of them far too slight to be of any real threat to Duke or Cyclops. They received some jeers but mostly whistles and applause. Some even placed bets on them with the roaming bookmakers. Another four fighters were introduced before Duke came out, his chest bare, his skin oiled. Willie folded her arms and made a great show of admiring him. He faced her and flexed his muscles. I got the feeling he was enjoying himself.

  "This here's someone special," the announcer shouted above the murmurs of the crowd as they sized up Duke's potential. "You prob'ly heard of him—Wild Bill Hickok, all the way from the American West!"

  "Christ," Willie muttered with a shake of her head. "Don't they know he's dead?"

  Apparently not, going by the cheers.

  "Last but certainly not least, ladies and gen'lemen," the announcer called, "we have Cyclops, the one-eyed giant!"

  Cyclops came out without his eye patch. The crowd gasped and oohed. Some surged forward to get a better look. He bore their ogling with his usual good grace, but I wanted to order them to move back and stop staring at the lumpy, jagged scar pulling his eyelid closed.

  "Haven't you seen a scar before?" I snapped at the man next to me.

  He either paid me no mind or simply didn't hear me. The announcer called the first fight, and the crowd swamped the bookmakers. Willie linked her arm with mine, perhaps worried we'd be separated.

  "Don't look," she said, "but someone's watching you."

  "Who?"

  "Gen'leman at nine o'clock."

  I glanced in that direction just as the gentleman turned away. He disappeared through the crowd, but not before I recognized him. "His name's Sir Charles Whittacker. We met him at Lord Coyle's dinner. Did he see me?"

  "He was looking at you direct." She craned her neck but Sir Charles was gone. "The man's rude if he ain't going to speak to you."

  "Perhaps he's embarrassed to be seen at a bare knuckle fight. Or he thinks I'll be embarrassed to be seen here."

  "Don't you English get offended when an acquaintance snubs you?"

  I ignored her and scanned the faces again, but there were so many people now that he could still be in the cellar and I wouldn't spot him.

  The crowd closed in as the two thin lads entered the ring. They paced around, getting the other's measure, but it took too long for the spectators. Calls to "Fight!" or "Go on!" reverberated off the walls.

  Finally, the taller lad threw a punch. It missed, opening a gap for his opponent to strike. The blow hit the lad in the stomach, and a follow-up smashed into his cheek. He stumbled back into the crowd behind him and was promptly pushed into the ring again to face another round of blows. Two of his punches managed to hit their mark but they had little effect in slowing down his opponent. Despite his shorter, slighter build, he was strong, quick and clearly experienced. The tall boxer finally fell under the barrage of punches, and landed hard on the floor. Blood streamed from his nose and his lip sported a cut. Bruises already bloomed on his torso and jaw. Thankfully he got up and walked away after the announcer declared the fight over.

  I breathed a sigh of relief but my heart still hammered in my chest. Watching two strangers fight for money was the oddest sensation. I didn't want to watch, yet I felt compelled to do so, and I found myself praying none would be seriously hurt.

  I was caught up in the action in front of me and didn't notice someone come up behind me until his silky voice murmured in my ear.

  "Enjoying yourself?"

  Chapter 4

  I jumped, my nerves shredded, and rounded on Matt. "What are you doing here?"

  Beside me, Willie put up her hands in surrender. "India wanted to come. I couldn't say no, could I?"

  Matt ignored her. His gaze burrowed into me. "I'm here because you're here, India."

  "I'm allowed to come and watch a fight if I want to," I said.

  "I know."

  "There are even other women here."

  "I can see that."

  "Some would call this type of sport vulgar, and me too for watching it, but I don't care."

  "Right."

  "I am not a slave to the opinion of others," I went on.

  "Good."

  "If there's one thing my magic has taught me, it's that I can only be the person I am. That may not suit everyone but so be it."

  His face had gone from scowling to confused with each declaration I made. "India, is something the matter?"

  "I've come to enjoy the fighting, and that's what I plan to do. If you don't like it, you can go back to your gentleman's club and associate with less vulgar people. I'm staying here."

  He looked to Willie. She shrugged so he turned back to me. "I only wanted to be with you. Being home alone holds no appeal."

  "Oh," I muttered. "It's nice to see you too."

  "How did you know we were here?" Willie asked.

  "Bristow told me," he said. "He must have heard you discussing it."

  Willie looked toward the ring as a cry erupted. "Or Wild Bill Hickok or Cyclops the giant told him."

  "Hickok?" Matt followed her gaze t
o see Duke enter the ring with another opponent. One corner of Matt's mouth lifted. "This should be interesting."

  To my surprise, he had no qualms watching his friend fight. Duke's opponent was taller, his reach longer, but Duke looked as if he were made of bricks and he was surprisingly quick. He easily accounted for the other man, which caused the crowd to jeer. They wanted a closer fight.

  They didn't get it in Cyclops's bout, either. He knocked his opponent out without receiving a single blow in return. The final bout had better satisfy the spectators' thirst for blood or there might be trouble. During a pause in the fighting, two boys wiped the blood and sweat off the floor. The serving women were also busy, selling tankards of ale to spectators.

  "Did you speak with Lord Cox?" I asked Matt during the lull.

  "I did. He's refusing to give in."

  "Did you find his weakness?" Willie asked.

  His gaze slid to hers. "Not yet…"

  "Then you gotta look in different places. You want to find dirt, you got to play in the mud."

  "I'm not sure how muddy I need to get."

  "The muddiest." I thought she was going to leave it at that, but after a moment, she added, "If you want to beat these folk then you got to think like them. I ain't never been rich, but I seen how they work, and it ain't all above board. They use each other to get ahead and trade in dirty secrets to get what they want."

  They made connections, just like Miss Glass had suggested.

  "They're not all like that," Matt growled at her. "The problem with Lord Cox is he's very much above board. He appears to be so clean that nothing sticks to him."

  "So you have looked, eh?" She nudged him with her elbow. "Good for you, Matt."

  He sighed and sidled closer to me. "I'll find a way, India."

  "But it'll take time," I said heavily.

  He said nothing; he merely tucked my hand into his and twined his fingers with mine. We stood like that, our linked hands partly hidden by my skirts, and watched the remainder of the fights. It was the most unromantic setting for a very romantic moment.

  As each opponent was eliminated, it became clear that Cyclops and Duke were to fight one another in the final bout. Willie was delighted and went to place a wager with the bookmaker, but Matt caught her arm.

  "Are you sure you want to do that?" he asked.

  She snatched her arm free. "Don't nursemaid me, Matt. I'm a grown woman, and I can spend my tin how I like."

  "I'm just looking out for you the way you've looked out for me over the years. I don't want you to regret betting too much."

  Her shoulders slumped, and I knew he'd won her over. She settled her stance, folded her arms, and waited for the fight to start.

  "I don't think I can watch this," I said over the roar of the crowd as Duke and Cyclops entered the ring.

  "We can leave if you like," Matt said.

  I shook my head. "What if we're needed to help carry them out?"

  "It won't get that bad."

  I was determined not to watch, but I couldn't help myself. I followed the fight as eagerly as any of the other spectators, although not quite as eagerly as the two ladies. They seemed to have picked different favorites. One cheered every time Duke struck a blow, and the other clapped her hands and licked her lips whenever one of Cyclops's punches connected.

  The fight was fair—perhaps too fair, going by the jeers of the crowd who wanted to see more blood and harder punches. Even I could see that neither Duke nor Cyclops intended to hurt the other. The crowd grew more restless as the fight wore on, shouting at the boxers and calling them cowards and all sorts of other names.

  "Glad I didn't place a wager if they're going to fight like princesses," Willie said with a shake of her head.

  "Willie!" I scolded. "Do you want them to hurt one another?"

  "I want to see a fair fight."

  "Why don't they stop it and just leave?" I asked.

  "Are you mad? The crowd'll kill 'em. They want to see blood spilled, even if they have to do it themselves."

  I pulled a face and inched closer to Matt.

  "Do you want to leave?" he asked me again.

  "Not without Duke and Cyclops."

  "They can take care of themselves."

  Even as he said it, Duke fell to the floor from one of Cyclops's punches. He did not get up.

  I gasped. "Duke!"

  Both Matt and Willie stopped me from running into the ring. "He's fine," Willie said.

  "We have to leave," Matt said, taking my hand. "Now."

  He led me through the crowd, baying at Duke, ordering him to get up and finish the fight. Some accused them of cheating by throwing the bout. The guards peeled away from their positions along the walls and made their presence known with cracks of their knuckles.

  The announcer with the booming voice called for calm but the crowd would have none of it. Some demanded their bets be refunded, others suggested the previous fighters be brought back to fight against Duke and Cyclops, four against two.

  "Shouldn't we wait for them?" I said to Matt when we reached the staircase. To my surprise, Willie had followed us. I thought she'd want to stay to see if Duke and Cyclops were all right.

  "They'll be fine," Matt said. "There's a back entrance."

  "How do you know?"

  "We've been here before, when we first arrived in London."

  "They fought then too?"

  "They thought about it and scouted for alternative exits in case they decided to and this happened."

  Willie urged us to hurry up the steps. "Someone's going to pull a knife soon, and it'll get nasty in here. I got my Colt but I don't want to use it."

  "How considerate of you," I said wryly.

  "There're too many witnesses."

  The taproom was almost empty of patrons since most were downstairs watching the fights. We hurried outside, where the air was dense and motionless, and it was only a little cooler than it had been in the cellar. It must have rained while we were inside as the cobbles were slick. I was glad for Matt's steadying hand as we walked briskly along the street.

  Running footsteps pounded down the laneway behind us but it was only Duke and Cyclops, still shirtless, grinning from ear to ear. They caught up to us and accepted congratulatory slaps on the back from Willie.

  "Did you see Cyclops's upper cut on that big man?" she said, smiling. "He went down like a smooth bourbon."

  Duke slung his arm around her shoulders and kissed her temple. "What about me, eh? Did you see my right hook?"

  "Aye, I saw it. I also saw you quit when you came up against the one-eyed giant." She punched Cyclops's arm as he positioned the patch over his eye.

  "Ouch," he said.

  "Big baby."

  Duke chuckled. "If I didn't quit, we'd kill each other. We decided before we went out that it'd be me, on account of it being more believable for the shorter man to lose to the bigger. I don't mind. I ain't proud, 'specially since we all know I can beat him in a fight if I were willing to hurt him."

  It was Cyclops's turn to chuckle in deep, resonant waves. He clapped Duke on the shoulder. "And I'm the queen of England."

  Duke shrugged him off and put on his shirt and waistcoat. "Guess we'll never know now, will we?"

  "If I find you two have been fighting in the mews, I'll dock your pay and inform both my aunt and Miss Mason," Matt said. "One will lecture you and the other will fawn over you, Cyclops, until you have to admit you have feelings for her."

  Cyclops grunted. Duke and Willie laughed. "Don't tell the Mason girl," Duke said to Matt. "Tell your cousin, Charity. She won't fawn, she'll tie him to a bed and call it nursing."

  Willie whooped and put her arm around Duke. They both laughed until their eyes watered.

  "You two've got the brains of five year-olds," Cyclops said with a shake of his head and a smile.

  Despite the brutal scenes we'd left behind, it was a pleasant walk back to Mayfair. It was a novelty to walk through the city at this time of night. Although th
e moon hid behind the clouds, the lamps glowed softly, casting enough light to show us the way and allow me to steal a glimpse of Matt's strong, healthy profile. We held hands, another novelty. It was thrilling to be able to show one another affection in public, even if that public only consisted of our friends. They didn't think less of us and, for almost half an hour, we all talked and laughed together. It felt so right, so wonderful.

  I let his hand go when we reached the house. Being home erased the magic of the evening. Matt tried to rekindle some of that magic by kissing me in the corridor outside my room. He pressed against me, palm flat to the closed door near my head, and melted me with a blazing hot kiss.

  A kiss that he suddenly broke off with a groan. "Damn it," he murmured, head lowered. "Damn this."

  We returned to the Stationers’ Hall the following morning to keep our appointment with Mr. Sweeney, the guild master. Unlike his porter, Mr. Sweeney had clearly been warned about us. His refusal to let us into his office proved that.

  "Kindly leave the premises without a fuss," he said, his upper lip trembling as if he were on the verge of crying.

  "We only want to ask you a few questions," Matt said.

  "You've spoken to Mr. Abercrombie about us, haven't you?" I asked.

  Mr. Sweeney folded one hand over the other in front of him and shot a speaking glance at the exit behind us. His lip continued to twitch in what must be a nervous tic. "I don't want to use force, but I'll have the porter round up some local thugs if you don't go immediately."

  "There's no need for threats," Matt said gently. He was twice Mr. Sweeney's size and could have easily employed intimidation tactics if he wished, but he kept at a distance. "Since you have already cast the first stone, I am going to tell you how this will play out. Either you let us into your office so we can have a civilized discussion, or we will ask our questions out here where anyone can overhear them. Since our questions are of a magical nature, I suspect you'll want them to remain private."