The Liberator of London

Chapter 6

I risk myself on the job, speaking with patrons when Randall is not looking to inquire about the Frye twins. I am no longer content to sit and wait for Millie to show; I need real-time updates. A day has passed. Tonight, I am almost sure they will show. Thistle and Crown is bustling–a celebration of sorts is being held by an overwhelming amount of who I presume to be Rooks. They dress in a similar fashion, speaking of the fall of Kaylock and Whitechapel. Kaylock and his Blighters had a hold on that borough for as long as I can remember. I doubt the gangster's sovereignty could be usurped so suddenly, so I brand the rumors as hyperbole. But, whatever kept the Frye twins away now gives way.

Luck strikes me toward the end of my night shift when Mr. Frye comes walking through the doors. He is merry. On his way to me, one of his men slaps him on the back in celebration of his victory. A group intercepts his path yet again and invites him to their table where they drunkenly jump into jubilant song.

Release the hounds

The chase is underway

Today we bag

A different kind of prey

They sway and knock their cups together, ale sloshing over the rims and onto the floor, their arms around one another.

Hear the bugle call,

we're feasting on a lord today!

Jacob is quite enthralled. He takes a swing of ale from one of his men. I am tense. I need to get to him and have him hear of my woes. The last I need is a drunken fool.

It seems in England

We have two laws

One for the rich

Another for the poor

I huff and continue sweeping. Their song can not go on forever.

A hooded guest, you'll greet

in your salon

A silver tray he'll serve your

carcass on.

Through the crowd, Jacob appears to come through. I stare at him impatiently to remind him he has business to attend to. He nods, letting me know he will be with me shortly.

Uncork the beaujolais!

O! Watch the scarlet spray!

We'll guzzle and we'll gorge today!

We're feasting on a lord today!

When he breaks from his men, I nearly leap with joy, discreetly sweeping my way over to meet him halfway.

"You've been asking around about me," Mr. Frye says. "Honored."

"Actually, you and your sister." Something inside me feels as though I must rebel against every sentence that comes from his mouth.

"She's out on business. If you'd rather wait for her," he threatens to turn back and I grab his arm, stopping him.

"Listen, Mr. Frye."

"Jacob," he says. "Call me Jacob."

"Yes yes of course. But please–any news of my sister?"

He pulls out a chair, sitting in it backward. I join him, thumping into a seat across from him. A tipped pint of ale drips from the table. The drinker is slumped on the floor, fast asleep. "There seems to be a link between orphanages, mills, and the coal mines outside of London," he informs.

"Are you certain?" I lean in fast. "The coal mines?"

"Aye, there seems to be a link between missing children reported and coal shipment ships docking in London."