A Scandal in Battersea (Elemental Masters #12)(93)

“It was here,” Alexandre panted. “The thing. From the basement. It was here, in my room, I don’t know how it was here, I don’t know how it got out of the basement, but it was here. It isn’t happy, Alf! It told me it wants its next victims now!”

“Bloody ’ell,” Alf muttered, looked around in the light from the coal fire, spied the little ladder-back chair Alexandre sometimes used to drape his coats over at the end of the day, and helped himself to it. He sat down on it backward, with his arms over the top of it, and shook his head. “Cain’t be done, guv. Impossible. Last snatch was too much, coppers took notice and took it ’ard, an’ papers got aholt of it. Acrost th’ river’s ballyhooin’ ’bout it in all the papers. Heard tell the ’Murican Ambassydor’s yellin’ at the PM. Battersea’s crawlin’ wi’ coppers. Guv, Sherlock bloody ’Olmes was there! In Battersea! Crawlin’ all over where we left them gels. Ain’t safe t’grab a gel from anywhere in Lunnon, with or without thet thing’s ’elp.”

“Oh God,” Alexandre moaned, burying his face in his hands. “What am I going to do? It got into my room! If it can go there, it can probably go anywhere! Even if we cut and run, it can probably find us!”

“Likely,” Alf agreed, completely calm. “Likely it’s got yer scent. I’ve knowed that t’ ’appen with magical beasties. It’ll foller yew no matter where ye run. Yew could prolly cross th’ Channel an’ it’d find yew.”

He . . . didn’t say “us.” He said “you.” The bottom dropped out of his world as he understood that Alf—very correctly—was pointing out that he was the only one tied to the entity. He and he alone had summoned it. He and he alone had brought it the sacrifices it had asked for. He’d thought this would mean he and he alone would be rewarded when it was happy. He had not thought about the other side of that coin, that if he failed to please this thing, he and he alone was going to pay the price.

Alf, however, had obviously thought this out more thoroughly than he had. Was Alf about to abandon him, cut and run?

“Lemme think on this a minnit,” Alf continued, calmly, and Alexandre nearly wept with relief, understanding that Alf was not about to leave him. At least, not yet. Alf put his chin down on his crossed arms on top of the chair, and pondered. Finally he straightened up again. “Oi cain’t get ye a virgin ternight, an prolly not termorrow, but yew ’member I tol’ yew I c’ld git one from thet madame I know? Reckon, Oi c’n git one in four days, at most. An’ Oi c’n ’ire another boy.”

“I remember,” Alexandre said, feeling hope again. “Do you think she’d have one now? Is there any chance we can get one tomorrow?”

Alf made a face. “She pretty much always ’as one, but it’ll cost, cost yew dear, ’pending on ’ow ’andsome th’ gel is. Look, guv, thet’s dangerous. Pretty gel, she’ll hev bin looked over a lot. Lotta men’ll hev been lookin’ t’pay fer th’ privilege. Yew know.”

Indeed he did, having paid quite a high price for the “privilege” a few times in the past.

“So if th’ gel goes missin’ then turns up i’ th’ paper? Lotta men’ll recognize th’ pichure. They’ll know where she come from, an’ they likely won’t be shy ’bout tellin’ that ’Olmes ’bout it, though they’d not tell th’ coppers. An’ th’ madame ain’t gonna be shy about tellin’ th’ coppers ’bout us to stay outa trouble.”

“Damn,” he swore under his breath. Alf was right.

“But that’s a pretty one. One she’s already got in th’ ’ouse. Thing is, she c’n get another one easy, one that ain’t ’andsome, nor suited for th’ trade, an’ she won’t give two pins if the gel shows up in the papers, or in the river fer thet matter. So she ain’t gonna say nothin’ t’ nobody.” Alf tipped him a wink. “Thet thing on’y cares if it’s a virgin, don’t care if the gel’s so ugly yew need ter put a bag on ’er ’ead. So that’s ’alf the prollem solved. Other ’alf’s gettin’ rid of ’er. An’ I gotter ideer ’bout that, too.”

“Let’s hear it,” Alexandre said, clutching his blankets to his chest to stop his shivering. But he was feeling comforted. Alf clearly knew what he was doing, and had been able to think of a good plan. Surely he had just as good a plan for getting rid of the wench once the entity was done with her.

But Alf’s next words shocked him to the core. He grinned. “We takes ’er t’ coppers oursel’s.”

“What?” Alexandre was only able to get that single word out around his shock. “You can’t—”

Alf held up a hand, cutting him off. “Oi said, ’ear me out. We takes ’er t’ coppers oursel’s. This’s in all th’ papers naow. Oi’ll pick up one, when oi go talk t’madame. Madame’ll wrap ’er up nice’n’tidy drugged fer us, an’ we brings ’er ’ere in the coach. The thing takes ’er an’ spits ’er out. We dresses ’er up pretty, then calls a cab. We goes t’Battersea Perlice Station, all right’n’proper, wi’ th’ wench an’ th’ paper. Was comin’ ’ome from thee-ayter, an’ there she was in th’ middle of road, you sez. Loik in paper, see ’ere, you sez. Yessir, we did, I sez, all respekfull.” He winked. “An’ if they ask you Wut thee-ayter, yew ’em an’ ’aw an’ then tells ’em your moosic ’all. An they’ll grin an’ wink an’ think yer a roight ol’ dawg. An’ even if Sherlock Bloody ’Olmes comes along later an asks at the ’all if yew was there, yew know wut they’ll say.”