5
Mercury asked the Cream Canary to join him on the roof immediately upon returning to the London house. There, they joined the Winged Monk.
“Neither of you has been in London for at least a century, which means you are uniquely positioned to be very helpful this evening.”
They both looked immediately intrigued.
“The Vanns are attending the theater and, while there, are expected to receive instructions from the person who is behind their decision to kidnap Tacey. If we can discover what their next move is, we can get a step ahead of them.”
“And rescue Tacey?” the Cream Canary pressed.
“That is our absolute first priority.” All his ghosts were focused on Tacey’s well-being.
He had never before been so grateful that he took tremendous care in deciding what specters joined his household.
“You two are far less likely to be recognized than many of the other ghosts. If you are willing, I’d like for you to search the theater tonight for the Vanns and, without being obvious that you are doing so, eavesdrop.
Learn everything you can, and report back. ”
“Will you be inside?” the Winged Monk asked.
“Among the theatergoers there will most certainly be clients of mine. I would be quickly recognized by someone, and I dare not risk revealing to the Vanns that I am in Town.”
“What will you be doing while we’re inside?” the Cream Canary asked.
“I will play the role of ‘coachman waiting for his employer,’” Mercury said. “That will allow me to linger alongside the theater with the other coachmen. I will be within five hundred feet of the entirety of the building, which should allow you two to search it all.”
They both nodded.
“Learn all you can,” he said. “We have only a couple of days before they are planning to move Tacey, and, if they do, I don’t know if we will be able to find her again.”
She was bait, after all. The Vanns wanted Mercury to come to London. Once they knew he was there, she would have far less importance to them. Who knew what they would do to her then.
Mercury had, during his first difficult year living on the streets of London, worked as a horse-holder.
He’d stood on corners and outside theaters and fine homes and shops, and watched teams so their coachmen could step away.
And during that time, he had studied the coachmen and learned to mimic their mannerisms.
He called on that ability as he stood beside the theater among a gathering of drivers, wearing a heavy coachman’s coat and the appropriate hat and gloves.
He blended in perfectly. No one would guess he was, in fact, the legendary Mercury Raine.
And absolutely no one would guess that, under his cloak, he was wearing the fine togs of the upper class.
He’d debated doing so, but in the end he couldn’t deny that it made sense to be prepared should he need to undertake a sudden change of identity.
“Deuced cold out tonight, ain’t it?” one of the coachmen said, shoulders a bit hunched against the damp breeze.
“Right ’nough,” Mercury answered with an expertly executed Cockney accent. “Cold as a miser’s handshake.”
The others standing about chuckled at the turn of phrase. Mercury had realized within days of fleeing the orphanage and taking refuge on the London streets that being personable was his best first line of defense.
“Saw a carriage coming in being driven by a ghost,” Mercury said. “Always makes me wish I had a ghost of my own. I could hop off to the pub while he did the driving.”
“Except you have to stay with your ghost,” another of the coachmen said with a chuckle. “If he’s atop the carriage, so are you, mate.”
“I s’ppose I’ll have to content m’self with watching the interesting people and their eye-catching ghosts.”
The first coachman looked at the group gathered. “Did you lot catch sight of that towering ghost that arrived tonight? Never seen person nor specter half so large.”
That was likely the Violet Giant. He’d known introducing the topic of “eye-catching ghosts” was his best strategy for getting the other coachmen on this conversational path.
He kept his outward response to one of casual curiosity. “I must’ve arrived after that.”
“Enormous,” another of the drivers said. “Couldn’t miss ’em.”
“Any inkling who he’s attached to?” Mercury asked.
A thin-set coachman among them dipped his head. “The couple I work for, in fact. Ghost’s called the Violet Giant.”
“Good name for ’im,” the first coachman said.
“Have you worked for the couple long enough to be used to the size of the ghost?” Mercury asked, slipping a little chuckle into the question so he wouldn’t sound too eager for the answer.
“Only since they came up to London a few days ago. Most of us staff came with the lodgings. We’re still having to tell ’em where everything is. They ain’t even realized there’s a door at the back of the house. They walk clear around to the front every time they return home.”
Everyone gathered around laughed at that.
“And you ain’t gonna tell ’em?” Mercury grinned.
“All the staff’s placed bets on how long’ll pass before the door’s discovered. I ain’t telling until I’ve no chance of winning.”
More laughter followed that. Underneath Mercury’s show of amusement, he was thinking furiously.
The staff didn’t care for the Vanns, which would make them more likely to be on Mercury’s side should the need arise.
And there was an entrance at the back that the Vanns weren’t aware of, which could be the perfect place to get to Tacey and then get her out.
A small pageboy hurried over and, tugging on a coachman’s coat, let him know his employer wished for the carriage to be brought around. The disruption allowed Mercury to wander away without it seeming odd or catching anyone’s notice.
Staff who didn’t care for the Vanns and an unknown entrance to the house.
If the Cream Canary or the Winged Monk could return with additional information, then they had a very good chance of undertaking a successful rescue.
They simply had to contend with the ever-present guard keeping watch over Tacey.
Would they do better to enlist the help of the staff or choose a more clandestine approach?
In the midst of his pondering, Mercury’s gaze fell on a bit of commotion among the nearby carriages. Two coachmen in the royal livery were swiftly preparing an ornate carriage, the side of which was emblazoned with the arms of the Prince of Wales.
The prince was in attendance and likely soon to be stepping out of the theater. Mercury needed to make a very swift decision.
He knew His Royal Highness. He had, in fact, come very close to brokering a trade for the prince, but in the end, the lure of a very significant social event had pulled the prince back to Town before anything could be decided.
The prince hadn’t been back to Aventine Manor in the couple of years since, but Mercury suspected he would recognize him.
That left him with a dilemma. If he approached the prince and renewed the connection, it could prove beneficial should Mercury need a favor down the road.
Doing so, though, would reveal to someone who was very fond of talking that Mercury Raine was in London, which he was trying to avoid.
Royal favor was nothing to sneeze at, but even the royal family couldn’t entirely subvert the law, and Mercury was attempting to keep secret just how many laws he was currently breaking.
But the future King of England did have a lot of influence. Mercury might one day find himself needing every bit of it.
The risk was worth taking.
He slipped out of sight of the other coachmen and slipped off his coachman’s coat and hat. He tucked them carefully behind an obliging hedge. After a quick smoothing of his hair and clothes, he sauntered toward the front of the theater, watching, without being obvious, for the prince to step out.
Mercury reached the portico in the very instant the prince did. He feigned a bit of surprise, then quickly offered the expected and deferential bow.
“Your Royal Highness.”
“Mercury Raine,” the prince acknowledged with a smile. “What an unexpected delight.”
“I am told that often.”
His royal conversational companion smiled ever more broadly. “Still as full of swagger as ever, I see.”
“When one has earned swagger, one really ought to use it.” Mercury let his gaze noticeably shift to the prince’s sour-faced ghost, a different one than he’d had during the royal visit to Aventine.
Mercury had read about the swap when it had first occurred.
And he had further read many articles reporting that the Prince Regent had grown recently displeased with the arrangement.
“Dourness is one of his Integral traits.” The prince’s explanation sounded almost like an apology.
“I hope Your Royal Highness will consider my services should you decide you wish to make a trade.” Mercury hooked an eyebrow at him. “I do wish we had done so two years ago.”
“As do I, Mercury Raine. As do I.”
Mercury dipped his head, making certain to show that he was not offended.
“How long will you be in London?” The prince asked.
“I do not yet know,” Mercury answered. “Likely not long.”
That brought a look of urgency to the royal visage.
Mercury was too well-versed in nudging people toward trades to push any further in that moment.
He had planted a seed. The prince would ponder it.
And, should Mercury need to lean on this advantageous connection, he would do so when the time was right.
He offered another deferential bow, and the prince continued on to his now-waiting carriage. Mercury made his way back by a circuitous route to where his clothing was hidden, with none of the coachmen the wiser.
He wandered back among them, now dressed the part once more.
Not a one was even speaking of the prince, apparently having not paid any heed to the royal departure.
Mercury kept his expression and posture as unconcerned and relaxed as it had been before.
No one took the least note of him until the Cream Canary approached.
“The carriage is being called for, John Coachman,” she said, using their predetermined code.
Mercury flipped up his collar against the cold air. He turned toward the other coachmen. “Fine gabbing with you, men. Seems I’m working for an early goer.”
They alternately bid him farewell and harassed him for his early departure.
Mercury maintained his one-of-the-fellas demeanor as he walked back to his carriage. He climbed atop and set the horses in motion. Slowly he tooled his way around the other carriages, away from the theater and out onto the London streets.
Only then, with the cover of night to give them a little privacy, did the Cream Canary pop her head up through the seat next to him, just enough to talk but not enough for anyone to spot her there.
“I found the Vanns. They were sharing a box with two other people.”
Two others. Interesting.
“They didn’t say much for a long time, but then Mr. Vann asked one of them, ‘What am I to do next? He didn’t take the bait.’”
“That’s likely me he was referring to.”
“Likely,” the Cream Canary acknowledged. “And then the person he was talking to said, ‘You won’t do anything until your consultation at the Forever Flame.’”
The Forever Flame.
“The other person in the box said, ‘Tomorrow at sunset.’ Then Mr. Vann said, ‘Tomorrow at sunset.’”
A meeting was happening tomorrow night. Tacey would likely be moved immediately following or the very next morning, depending on what was decided during the “consultation.” Mercury was running out of time.
“None of them spoke after that,” the Cream Canary said. “A few minutes passed, and the two men left. A few more minutes passed, and the Vanns left as well.”
The Cream Canary slipped back inside the carriage. Mercury pondered as he drove onward.
Mercury knew London very well, but he hadn’t heard of any place called “The Forever Flame.” Was it new since his departure from Town or very well hidden?
And who would the Vanns be meeting with there who wanted so desperately to find Mercury? The unidentified person went to extreme lengths to lure him to London. Why?
It was yet another piece in a puzzle that kept growing more and more complicated.