Ginn Hale - Wicked Gentlemen

"Do you know where we are?" Belimai sounded a little out of breath from hurling him up to the window.

"In the new water-closet." Harper cracked the door and peered out into the hallway. Three gas lamps flickered on the walls, but the guards seemed to have already made their pass. The hall was empty for the moment.

"Cedric should be in the east wing. It's not too far from here." Harper had spent a long portion of the previous night and early morning watching the pale silhouettes of guards and servants in the upper rooms of White Chapel. He had seen which rooms were closed up for the evening and which received late services of wine. He had even caught a glimpse of Lord Cedric himself.

"Do you want me to follow you, or wait here?" Belimai asked. "Neither. There's a rung ladder at the west end of this hall. It leads up to the steeple tower. They used to store festival bells and ropes up there. I need you to find the ropes. That pipe isn't going to hold for the climb back down." "Should I meet you back here?"

He glanced back to Belimai. The tiny shaft of light that seeped in from the cracked door fell across his yellow eyes, lending them a glow. Droplets of rain glistened in his dark hair.

"No. Wait for me in the tower. You'd be a little obvious if anyone even caught a glimpse of you down in the halls. If you hear the alarms, leave the rope for me and get out."

Belimai frowned slightly at Harper's suggestion, but he didn't argue.

Harper knelt down and pulled off his wet boots. He didn't want to leave a set of muddy footprints.

"Take these with you." Harper handed Belimai his boots.

"Thanks, I'll cherish them always," Belimai replied.

"If I don't make it back, promise you'll be good to them." Harper wasn't surprised to see that the joke didn't even get a smile from Belimai.

"Be careful," Belimai told him.

"You too," Harper replied.

If they had been other people, Harper supposed, they might have said goodbye or good luck, but such exchanges held a distasteful trace of fatalism. Harper slipped out of the room. Behind him, Belimai crept down the hall to the rung ladder. Harper looked back to see Belimai climb up into the shadows of the steeple tower.

Harper turned back to his own task. The distance he had to cross was no more than the length of two city blocks, but it wound through a catacomb of patrolled halls, locked doors, and up a staircase. Harper took out the keys he had stolen from Brandson.

He listened intently as he crept past the doorways, down the halls. At the sound of approaching footsteps, he unlocked one of the empty rooms and slipped inside. He waited in the dark until the noise was well out of his hearing. It was easy to elude the guards. Their hard steps and heavy boots sounded clearly against the polished stone floors. The night maids, on the other hand, were as quiet as rabbits. Only the rustling of their dresses or an occasional whisper among them gave Harper any warning of their approach.

At last he reached the east wing and the room where he had seen Lord Cedric. He leaned against the frame and listened for sounds inside. The room was quiet, but not silent. Harper made out the scratching of a pen nib against paper. There was another noise also, something Harper didn't recognize. It was a soft, hollow smacking. Or perhaps a popping. The view through the keyhole only offered a glimpse of jewel blue carpet. Harper waited, straining to discern just how many people were inside the room and what they might be doing.

The sound of writing stopped. Lord Cedric read the few lines he had written aloud. The low timbre of his voice rolled through his niece's funeral speech, and then another soft, clucking noise popped out.

Lord Cedric was absently clicking his tongue, Harper realized.

The sound of writing resumed, as did the rhythmless popping noises. Lord Cedric was unlikely to be so at ease as to slip into thoughtless habit if anyone else were in the room with him.

Harper silently unlocked the door and pulled Brandson's pistol from his pocket. Lord Cedric didn't stop writing. Only when the latch clicked closed behind Harper did Cedric glance up.

He froze in surprise at the sight of Harper. His expression was almost comical: eyes wide, lips pursed to make another pop of his tongue. The sound didn't come. He continued to stare at Harper as if he could not understand what stood before him, as if Harper were a physical impossibility.

Harper closed the distance between himself and Lord Cedric in four swift steps. He lightly rested the muzzle of Brandson's pistol against Lord Cedric's forehead. Lord Cedric's eyes managed to widen more, but his mouth remained pursed and slightly open.

"If you try to call for help, I will kill you," Harper whispered.

Lord Cedric swallowed slowly. His mouth moved, almost forming a word, but he made no sound. Harper drew the pistol back from Lord Cedric's head, allowing the man to regain a little of his composure.

"It's good that you already have your pen and ink ready. I have something for you to sign."

Harper laid out the confession that had been prepared for Sariel. It was crumpled from being in his pocket, but the Inquisition seal and watermark still stood out boldly. Lord Cedric picked up the confession, quickly skimming the tangle of le-gal language.

"Where it asks for the name of your accomplice in the Inquisition," Harper said, "fill in Abbot Greeley's name."

Harper watched as Lord Cedric neatly supplied the name. It gave Harper a certain pleasure to use Abbot Greeley's own weapons against him.

"Good," Harper said. "Now you sign it."

Lord Cedric dipped his pen in the inkwell, but then hesitated.

"I can offer you a great deal of money, Captain," he whispered without lifting his eyes.

"If I wanted your money, I would have asked for it. Now, sign," Harper said.

"Of course."

Lord Cedric signed the confession, then pulled his hand back as if further contact with the paper might burn him.

"I suppose it doesn't matter to you that I never intended to kill her," Lord Cedric said. "You have no idea how willful and disgraceful her behavior was. I had to—"

"You murdered her." Harper cut him off. "Then you and Abbot Greeley arranged for an innocent man to face your charges. You both deserve to hang."

"It was wrong of me. I know that. You can't know how guilty I've felt." Lord Cedric's face was a study of handsome regret. He looked nothing like Edward had when he had told Harper that he had signed a confession against him. He looked nothing like Belimai had for years after confessing Sariel's name. Lord Cedric knew so little of guilt that he couldn't even begin to approximate its self-loathing ugliness.

"My own conscience already tortures me more than you could ever wish to, Captain," Lord Cedric said softly.

"I don't want to torture you," Harper replied quietly. "I just want to see you executed."

The sad expression on Lord Cedric's face sank into an indignant glare.

"You honestly think that any judge will accept this confession, Captain? If you even get it into a court, it will be a matter of your word against mine. You don't have any witnesses, or any credibility." Lord Cedric slowly turned the plume of his pen between his fingers. "If you just let this entire matter go, I would be willing to pay you handsomely and see to it that the abbot doesn't pursue you any further. I might even be able to do something about the charges against your brother-in-law. You have to know, you don't have a chance in hell of convicting a lord. Why not let this go while you can still gain something?"

Harper picked up the confession. The ink had dried. He folded it back into his pocket and then backed to the door. He made sure the lock was secured and slid the chain lock into place.

Then he went to the window and opened it. The rain outside had gotten worse. His pulse quickened. Its fast rhythm throbbed through the cut in his palm. Harper studied the sheer wall for a moment, then turned back to study the room.