The Dire King (Jackaby #4)(13)
“Mayor Spade,” Jackaby began. He took a deep breath. “Philip. This is wrong.”
The mayor frowned. “Thanks very much for your consultation, Detective. I will take that under advisement.”
“You can’t—”
“You only think I can’t!” Spade burst out. Beneath his beard, Spade’s cheeks flushed. His eyes narrowed and he readjusted his spectacles. “You’ve built a life out of thinking I can’t! You want a pat on the back and a nice reward every time you swat a bee for us, but all the while you’ve let the hornets build their nest in our eaves. I won’t sit around waiting for you to play hero any more, Detective. You’ve been telling me for years that there are things hiding in the shadows of my city. Well, I believe you. I have found the things in the shadows, Mr. Jackaby, and now I’m the one turning on the lights!”
“Don’t be asinine, Spade! You romanticize fighting oddlings the same way you romanticize a holiday in Spain. You make it sound like this grand exotic adventure—right up until you’re there, complaining about the food and watching your neighbors hang their unmentionables on the line. They’re just people!”
“Except they’re not people! We’re talking about magical creatures! Dangerous, unpredictable magical creatures, here in the real world!”
“Magic is just magic!” Jackaby threw up his hands. “It’s not inherently special or strange or dangerous! It’s everywhere! It’s already all around you! If just being magical meant that something was dangerous, you’d have long since been killed by a butterfly, or a bubble, or an apple turnover.”
“Those things aren’t magical.”
“Of course they’re magical! Argh! You infuriating man! If a unicorn came and sat in the corner of your office every day, then by the end of the year you’d be hanging your coat on its horn. There is magic in your life! Not appreciating it does not make it any less magical. Yes, some of that magic is dangerous, but so are scissors and electricity and politics—and plenty of other completely human inventions!”
Spade’s voice grew quiet, which somehow had the effect of magnifying his intensity. “Don’t presume to lecture me, Detective. Redcaps. Werewolves. Dragons. I know very well that there are monsters in New Fiddleham. My wife was one of them. How many people did you let that nixie murder before you captured her?”
Jackaby considered this soberly for a moment. “Fight the monsters, then, Philip. Don’t fight the innocent bystanders who happen to come from the same place. You’re not afraid of magic, not really. You’re just afraid of what you don’t understand—and too stubborn to try understanding.”
“I understand more and more, Detective,” Spade hissed. “I know very well what I’m fighting.”
“Do you really? Because based on this detainment facility, you appear to be winning the battle against bakers and mathematics teachers. What exactly do you think you’re fighting? Biscuits and geometry?”
“What I’m fighting,” hissed Spade, “is a war!”
The detention hall had gone eerily silent. Jackaby shook his head. “It doesn’t have to be.”
“This is war, Mr. Jackaby—make no mistake—and you find yourself dangerously close to the wrong side of it.” Spade’s voice had taken on a cold edge. “If you care at all about humanity, then stand with me.”
Jackaby turned his gaze to the crowded cells, and then back to the mayor, his eyes rimmed more with regret than rage. “It is for the sake of our humanity that I stand against you.”
Spade and Jackaby stood facing each other in tense silence for several seconds. At length, the mayor straightened his waistcoat and fixed Jackaby with his steeliest glare. “I’ll be watching you very closely, Detective.”
“I do hope so, Mayor.” Jackaby nodded politely and spun on his heel. “You might actually learn something if you do.”
Chapter Six
Jackaby did not speak as we left the building. We were three or four blocks away from the station house when Lydia Lee caught up to us, the coach rattling and clinking and the dappled gray horse stamping its hooves impatiently on the cobblestones. Miss Lee managed to convince the Duke to clop to a halt just ahead of us, and my employer climbed into the carriage wordlessly.
Miss Lee gave me an inquisitive look, but Jackaby finally broke his silence before I could explain. “Don’t bother with niceties. Take me home, Miss Lee.” He thought for a moment. “I’m going to need you to go to jail for me afterward.”
“That is the second time a man’s said those words to me,” she replied gamely. “Although the last time I got flowers and a dance first, if memory serves.”
“Bail,” amended Jackaby as Miss Lee hopped back into the driver’s box.
“They usually do, in the end,” she said, sighing.
“What? Listen, I have a jar of banknotes in my office earmarked for bail. I’ll bring it out to you as soon as we arrive. I need you to bring it to the processing officer at the Mason Street Station. He’ll sort out the paperwork. Just sign where he tells you to. Ask for Alton.”
“Allan,” I corrected.
“I’m fairly sure it’s Alton,” said Jackaby.
“You want me to post bail for somebody?” Miss Lee called down as the carriage began to rattle on down the street. “I guess I can do that.”