A Scandal in Battersea (Elemental Masters #12)(41)

And how was he going to manage that without getting caught himself? And when the second victim was let go again, what was to stop her from identifying him or Alf or both? Nothing, that was what!

He felt that horrid rummaging in his head again. Do not concern yourself. When I am done with the servant, she will say nothing.

Which didn’t address how he was supposed to snatch such a person in the first place!

As it happened, that very frustration was what managed to push some of his fear into the background. He was able to think again. He was still terrified, but he—and his brain—weren’t paralyzed.

Finally he managed to dredge up just enough courage to ask . . . not for anything specific, but surely he wasn’t expected to do this for nothing!

“What’s to be my reward?” he managed.

He sensed a dreadful amusement. That amusement was more than enough to push him over the edge again, and if his legs hadn’t been shaking so hard he would have fled. You have opposition to disposing of your goods as you will. You no longer have that opposition.

He could not for the life of him imagine what that was supposed to mean, but at this point he was so close to soiling himself with terror that all he wanted was to conclude this interview and get out of there. “When do you want these two?” he stammered.

Between now and seven days from now. No later than that . . . or we will be displeased.

And the pillar collapsed down into a pool—and he snatched up the lantern and ran for the stairs. He didn’t actually know what he did next—when his mind was working again, he found himself huddled up in front of the fire, swathed in blankets, half-frozen with fear and physical cold. It felt as if he was never going to get warm again, and it took him an hour, sitting on the mat in front of the hearth, before he could feel his hands and feet.

Alf left him alone until he was ready to talk, just bringing him a couple of brandies while he shivered with cold that seemed a part of his very skeleton. After about an hour had passed, and he was finally beginning to feel less than terrified, Alf sat down across from him and handed him a third brandy. “So, guv. Wot’s it want, then?”

“Two sacrifices. Male or female, doesn’t seem to matter, between about ten and twenty-ish. Doesn’t have to be virgins, but the thing prefers them. But one is supposed to be special; the thing wants us to snatch someone that has family that will look after her, and we’re supposed to return her to them, or at least put her where they’ll find her. We’ve got a week.”

Alf made some discontented noises. “Guv, I don’ loik this, but I reckon we hain’t got no choice. Oi’ll hev t’ get some help.”

“Help?” Alexandre repeated with alarm. “That’s not a good idea!”

“No, it hain’t,” Alf agreed, sitting on his heels beside him on the hearthrug. “It’s a reel bad idear. But if we’re snatchin’ people loik that, we gotta ’ave a cart or somethin’ t’put ’em in. Hain’t a good idear t’be draggin’ ’em about the street. Oi hain’t got a cart, an’ Oi dunno how t’drive. You hain’t got a cart . . . ye know how t’drive?”

“I do, actually,” he said, Alf’s words setting his mind sluggishly to working. “I could buy a cart and horse. We’d have to have a place to put them . . . I could drive. . . .”

“Bit uv an expense, guv,” Alf replied skeptically.

“Not as big an expense as if we hire someone who turns around and threatens to expose us unless we pay him,” Alexandre replied. “What I need is a stable somewhere around here where I can keep a cart and a horse, or even a donkey.” He was still thinking. “We’d need an excuse for why we were using it late.”

“Leave thet t’me, guv,” Alf replied. “Oi’ll find yer a place wut don’t care wut ye do. On’y goin’ out a couple times a week, an’ jest carryin’ a couple gels . . . reckon thet ’orse’s gonna think ’e’s in clover.”

“Which means I can buy some old nag no one will look twice at.” Alexandre was liking this idea more and more. “And all we need for a cart is something sturdy, with high sides. And clean. We won’t want something that can leave telltale mud smears on the one we put back.”

“Roight then, we got a plan.” Alf stood up. “Oi’ll find wut we need. Stable fust, reckon stable lads’ll know where Oi c’n git a hanimal an’ a cart. Oi’ll git all thet set up, then come t’ye fer the ready.”

Alexandre felt limp with relief. It wasn’t impossible after all. In fact, it probably wouldn’t be that hard. Twilight, suppertime, will be about the best time. Most people will be home. The streets will be uncrowded, with a few people hurrying home or running an errand, but an old man driving a cart won’t be anything anyone will note. Alf can get the target. We’ll be off the street and gone before anyone notices that our target is missing.

As his fears ebbed, and his anxiety went with it, he found himself wondering what on earth the entity had been talking about when it had said it was “removing opposition.” The only “opposition” he could think of was that damned meddling solicitor who kept coming around every quarter. And how would something with no agency of its own be able to stop the officious old goat from insisting on his quarterly “inspection”?