or psychopath, an aggressive tack can sometimes prove useful, as it will pique your captor’s interest and prompt him to keep you alive a little longer. Chevie had never forgotten this quote and used it to justify her regular outbursts. Riley, of course, had not been to this lecture and could not understand why Chevie repeatedly antagonized their captors.
“She’s a simpleton,” he blurted. “There was an accident with a high wall . . . and some laudanum. Her marbles rolled clean out her earholes.”
Malarkey was nonplussed. He stood and paced awhile, uncertain how to react.
“Well, I never,” he said, rather quaintly. “I ain’t accustomed to vinegar from gents. Now I meet my first Injun lady, and she’s spouting all this color at me. What’s a gang leader to do?”
Malarkey slapped the riding crop against his massive thigh. “Here’s the scoop, folks. My predecessor took a job in good faith to keep eyes on that house in Half Moon Street and slit the neck of anyone who arrived in it. So I find myself in a dilemma. Mine is not to wonder why the man who contracted us would want you two snuffed, but Otto Malarkey don’t like to kill without reason, especially a cove like you, boy, who could be of service. But the brotherhood accepted coin for a job of work, and the Rams be nothing if not reliable.”
Riley had a thought. “But you couldn’t kill another Ram.”
“Quick thinking again, boy. But you ain’t a Ram. A cove’s gotta be born into the brotherhood, or fight his way in. And, with respect, you might be able to climb a drainpipe, but you couldn’t bend one.”
“I might surprise you,” said Riley, and to prove his point, leaped high in the air and smashed the empty chair with a blow from his forearm.
“Not too shabby,” admitted Malarkey, flicking a splinter from his trouser leg. “But I got a dozen better. I need something with a little theater about it. The men are bored watching dullards pound on each other.”
Riley held out his wrists. “Put manacles on me, and I’ll still whip whoever you nominate.”
“I don’t know. We’ve been paid already.”
“Don’t you want to know why this man needs us dead? Knowledge is power, ain’t that so? And a king can’t have enough of either.”
Malarkey slapped his thigh with the riding crop. “You is a dazzling one, but perhaps too smart with your verbals. I have found in this particular kingdom that it is generally prudent to keep the gob shut, do your business, and ask no questions. I would like to know why such a celebrated man would want to see you in the dirt, but in this game knowing too much can see you dead quicker than knowing too little.”
An idea popped into Chevie’s head. “What if I fight, big man? How would that be?”
Malarkey’s crop froze in mid-swing. “You, fight? We couldn’t abide that here. We only started admitting ladies into the Hidey-Hole recently.”
Riley was thinking three steps ahead. “Mr. Malarkey, this lady has special Injun skills. I seen her punch out a Cossack and his horse. She don’t look it, but she’s a dervish, sir. A foresighted man could make some serious coin betting on Chevie.”
Malarkey rubbed the price list on his chest. “The odds would be long, so the gamble would be small. But one fight for one place. That still leaves you out in the cold, boy.”
“Not a problem,” said Chevie. “You pick your two best bruisers, and I’ll fight both of them.”
Malarkey guffawed in surprise. “Both of ’em? Fight ’em both, you say?” He winked at Riley. “Just how high was this wall she took a tumble from?”
The Red Glove
ORIENT THEATRE. HOLBORN. LONDON. 1898
Albert Garrick had mixed feelings on the subject of the Orient Theatre. On the one hand he was too much in love with his memories of the performer’s life to ever let it go, and on the other it caused him great pain even to gaze on the mechanics of his once-famous illusions.
He trod the boards now, tightening a rope here, adjusting a mirror there. Each contraption brought a rueful smile to his thin features.
Ah, the Chinese water bowls. How the crowd had cheered in Blackpool. Lombardi, they cried. Lombardi, Lombardi.
It occurred to Garrick that with his improved physicality, no illusion would be off-limits to him.
I am more supple now and could escape from a seltzogene if need be. The Great Lombardi could be the most famous illusionist on earth.
It was a