Nine Shillings

Breaking and Entering

London - 1842

The problem with being a vigilante was it quickly became apparent the most expedient method wasn't actually the most efficient. If I went around bopping off every corrupt businessman there'd soon be no businessmen left and people would start to notice. So, I had to give some of them a chance to change their ways, and sometimes that involved a nudge.

Like stealing proof of adultery from their lover; letters in their own hand were always better, their lover's letters only proved someone wrote to them, not that they reciprocated.

The late Widow Merryborn's bureau was in the corner of the sitting room. There was always a hidden drawer in rich people's bureaus where they hid their secret things thinking no-one would find them. That and the safe were the first two places a thief would look.

I found a catch under the bureau and a small drawer popped out. Inside was a bundle of letters tied in pink ribbon, I couldn't say I was surprised, it was the same place I kept the love letters Bran had sent me. Though, in my case, I was only hiding them from the children so Mary wouldn't draw on them. I was surprised Widow Merryborn's heir hadn't found them, perhaps they hadn't looked.

The clock on the mantelpiece ticked loudly in the darkness and the deep slumbering breaths of the occupants gave the impression the house was breathing, watching me with disapproval.

'Maybe she read this poetry and the fright killed her,' I muttered reading through a heinous mangling of Shall I Compare Thee to a Summer's Day? I could read English and Irish and Josef was teaching me Punic and I was sure that poem wouldn't sound good in any of them.

I could imagine Bran telling me I shouldn't read a woman's private correspondence but she wasn't going to know, according to the papers she'd died of fright. Doctors labelled a lot of things as dying of fright and other strange things because they had no idea what actually killed them, I wondered sometimes how many of those deaths were supernatural. I folded the letter up and stuck the small stack into one of my many pockets.

Then I climbed back out of the open window, shut it, and dropped lightly into the garden. I kicked dirt into my boot prints in the flowerbed under the window and snuck round the side of the building, keeping low.

Bran whistled.

I dropped to my knees a few feet short of the gate listening and not breathing. Literally.

Heavy-booted steps stopped. 'What're you whistling about, sir?'

'The news,' Bran said and the pages of his newspaper rustled.

'You Irish?' said the man I assumed was a constable.

'Don't engage him, Bran,' I whispered, knowing Bran's sensitive vampire ears would catch it. 'Use your magic to make him move on.'

'What of it?' Bran replied.

I muttered Irish curses and crawled towards the gate.

'Interesting place for a paddy to choose to read a paper,' the constable said, his steps moving closer to Bran.

'I'm waiting for my lady,' Bran said.

I knew I shouldn't have brought him. Bran could mask himself from humans easily enough but he had a tendency towards self-punishment when he was feeling grim or guilty.

'You?' said the constable. 'Round here?'

I opened the garden gate and it rattled.

The constable's heavy boots moved towards me. He stopped. 'Take your filthy hands off me.'

I peeked out. The Constable and Bran were in the middle of the street, Bran holding onto his arm. Passers-by were beginning to linger, pretending they weren't watching. It was dark and the streetlights were glowing but people were still going to and fro, horses and carriages passing. London never slept, which was rather inconvenient when you were robbing a place.

Bran released him, stepped away and raised his hands. 'I'm not resisting.'

My first thought was to punch the constable and run for it but there was the crowd. Assuming we got away they'd all remember us, which would cause more trouble. I couldn't manipulate thoughts and I couldn't justify killing a man for being a bastard, he couldn't do Bran any harm, which brought me back to the punching problem. And the crowd one. The more people there were, the more people who could get hurt.

'You got one of your mates in there robbing the place?' The Constable asked, stepping closer, he was almost as tall as Bran.

'No,' Bran replied. 'I was just reading the paper.'

'I thought you were waiting for your lady.'

'While reading the paper,' Bran said.

The constable smacked Bran with the truncheon then slammed him into the railings he'd been leaning against and put handcuffs on him. 'Think you're being smart, paddy?'

My claws extended and the wood of the gate split under my grip.

'No, sir, just trying to go about my business.'

The constable hit him again and he fell to his knees. A few people in the crowd looked away. No-one said a word.

I took a deep breath, trying to calculate a way out that didn't end with the police coming down on us like a ton of bricks. None were springing to mind that didn't require Bran's cooperation.

'Use your magic, Bran,' I whispered.

He tilted his head towards me, kneeling at the constable's feet.

'You're not helping me, Brandon, you're making more trouble.' I could pop out and do something as The Reaper, then they'd think Bran was an accomplice. Worse for him.

'You're coming with me, paddy,' the constable said, grabbing Bran by the back of his jacket and hauling him up.

There was a scattering of applause as if the constable hadn't accosted someone who'd been minding his own business.

'Bloody fool,' I muttered.

Bran glanced back at me.

I waited until they disappeared and the crowd dispersed then punched the wall. The bricks cracked under my fist and the side of my hand throbbed, it didn't help.

I wanted to follow them and catch the copper. That meant I shouldn't, my temper might get the best of me and a dead policeman could come back on Bran. There were plenty of witnesses who saw him get arrested.

I crept out onto the street, joined the flow of people, then crossed the road and picked Bran's hat out of a puddle. The old battered fabric had a tide line of muddy water.

I took a deep breath. It was a problem for Mrs O'Connor, not The Reaper.

I needed to fetch Josef or I'd leave a very messy police station behind me.