Chapter Eleven

I may have misjudged this, I thought as I shouldered the weight of the unconscious gentleman who was draped against me in the stairwell of the gambling den.

"Now, here's a fair prospect," the man slurred suddenly, briefly raising his head and gawping down the front of my gown. "Got a few coins to spend on a pretty thing like you. Show you a verrrry nice time." His watery blue eyes lifted to mine, and he scrunched them closed for a moment before opening them and looking at me expectantly.

"Are you … trying to wink?" I huffed, adjusting his weight.

His meaty fingers reached for the lace-edged mask that was tied around my eyes, the kind that were worn by the female guests who came to gamble and enjoy themselves here at the Penny, and I glared at him. "Stop that right now."

"Is he awake again?" Maud asked, appearing beside me.

"Got a friend?" the man guffawed, delighted. "Two lovely ladies just for me. My lucky night. Told 'em all it was my lucky night, didn't I?"

"You mean before you lost almost a hundred pounds at cards?" Maud muttered. "Oh yes, very lucky."

Maud inserted herself under his other armpit, relieving some of the burden. Calvin Scrimshaw was not a light man. Nor was he a good one. As was becoming ever more apparent as his hand roamed across my backside. I twisted as best as I could, smacking it away.

"We need to get him up to Joe's office," Maud said in a low voice. "It's gone midnight. Sylla and Win are waiting."

A long, low snore escaped from Scrimshaw's lips, as his body sagged into unconsciousness again, and Maud and I struggled to keep him upright, my feet sliding in my thin silk slippers as his head came to rest, pillowed on the ample cleavage revealed by my dress.

"Mari, love," a rough, amused voice came from behind us. "What are you doing in such an interesting predicament? Don't you know this is a respectable establishment?"

"Ash!" I panted, too relieved to bother coming up with a witty retort. "Give us a hand, will you? Sylla and Win are waiting upstairs, and I don't know how we're going to get him up there."

Ash was one of the owners of the Lucky Penny, the gambling den we were in. The man was a lovable rogue, a well-mannered scoundrel, and a friend to the Aviary. A couple of years older than me, with his overlong dark hair, square, unshaven jaw and gold earrings, he looked like a wickedly handsome pirate – and he drank and flirted like one too.

It was, I thought, a great skill, to flirt with every single person he met – male or female – and yet never to cross the line into unwanted over-familiarity. (Wantedover-familiarity was a whole different story, of course. Tales of Ash's heartbroken lovers were legion.) It was a useful trait in his line of work, this ability to read people, to give them exactly what they wanted – he'd charmed more than one fortune out of his patrons over a cosy hand of cards.

With a theatrical sigh, Ash appeared in front of us, reaching out to grab Scrimshaw roughly by the shoulders and turn him round.

Allowing Scrimshaw to slump against him, Ash bent his knees and slung Scrimshaw over his shoulder, the man's arms dangling limply towards the ground.

"I thought he was supposed to be conscious for this bit," Ash puffed, climbing the stairs with a strength I had not suspected of his lean, wiry body.

"There might have been a small miscalculation in the dosage." I bit my lip. "I'm sure it will be fine, though."

Maud snorted. "Let's hope we can get some sense out of him."

Nerves writhed in my belly as I hurried up the stairs after Ash. I was close to finishing my training and this was our first big operation as a charm. I desperately wanted things to go well, but it looked as though I might have made a mess of things already.

We clattered unceremoniously into Joe's office – Joe was Ash's business partner, who was not currently on the premises – to find Sylla sitting behind his desk, impatience simmering in every line of her person. Her cool eyes went straight to Scrimshaw's prone body.

"Oh dear," Winnie said mildly, stepping forward while Ash deposited Scrimshaw in a chair. "It looks as though there may have been a problem with the dosage."

"What exactly did you give him?" Ash quirked an eyebrow.

"It's a compound made from several plants," I said. "It's harmless, really. Salvia, chamomile, a touch of opium…"

"Opium?" Ash kicked at Scrimshaw's foot, but the man didn't respond.

"Only a little bit," I said weakly.

"I told you this wasn't a good idea," said Sylla.

"It will be fine." Winnie waved her hand. "The science is sound. Mari and I allowed for a certain margin of error."

"Margin of error? Is the man even alive?" Sylla asked, rising to her feet.

Winnie pressed her fingers to his neck. "Yes," she replied. "I should think he'll revive momentarily."

"Let's hope so," Sylla said calmly. Too calmly.

"Well, I'll be off, then," Ash interrupted cheerily, having the sense to know when his particular brand of charm was about to encounter a brick wall. A good gambler knew when to fold, after all. "Lovely to see you as always, ladies. Give the bell in the corner a pull if you run into any problems." His eyes flicked to the drooling, unconscious form of the man in front of him. "Or if you need any help disposing of the body."

On that helpful note, he swaggered out of the door, sending me a mischievous wink over his shoulder as he left.

"Tell me what happened," Sylla demanded.

"Everything went exactly as planned," Maud said, as I slumped into a vacant armchair, rubbing my aching shoulders. "We sat down at the table beside Scrimshaw, flirted a little while he played, then Mari intercepted his drink, and I emptied the vial into it."

"About ten minutes later he seemed heavily intoxicated," I said, "and I convinced him to join me in the stairwell. Then … he became a bit … unconscious."

"But he woke up again," Maud put in quickly.

"Briefly," I admitted.

Sylla rubbed her temples with her fingers. "I see. May I remind you that the purpose of bringing him here was to question him? Do either of you have any suggestions as to how we are supposed to question an unconscious man?"

I could think of nothing. Disappointment and guilt seeped through me. My first proper investigation, and I had already made a potentially catastrophic mistake.

In the heavy silence, Win moved to the desk and poured herself a glass of water from a waiting jug. Then, without any further ado, she threw the contents into Scrimshaw's face.

"Wha—!" the man exclaimed, his eyes snapping open, his bleary gaze wheeling about the room.

A small gasp of relief passed my lips.

"Ah, good." Sylla came to stand in front of the desk, leaning her weight against it, her posture all business. "Mr Scrimshaw. We have some questions for you."

"Where…? What…? Who…?" Scrimshaw began. His eyes flicked to the corner of the room, and he let out a muffled shriek. "My God," he whimpered. "My God."

"Excellent." Winnie pulled out her pocket watch before noting the time down in the notebook on the desk. "The hallucinations have begun. That's interesting, Mari, isn't it? Sooner than I had anticipated."

"Now would be a good time to start asking questions," I said to Sylla in a low voice. "It's likely he'll only be coherent for a few minutes, but his inhibitions should be significantly lowered."

"Very well." Sylla straightened. "Mr Scrimshaw, I need to know the numbers of the safe deposit boxes that you and your associates have been using."

Scrimshaw's eyes darted between her and the corner of the room. "Can you see?" he croaked. "Can you see them?"

"Yes, of course I can." Sylla's voice was soothing. "And unless you answer my questions, I shall let them have you."

"The goats…" he whispered. "So many goats."

"Did he just say goats?" Maud asked.

"Capraphobia," Winnie murmured, nudging her spectacles up her nose. "Fascinating."

"The goats are here for you," Sylla said stonily. "Unless you give me the information I want. The numbers on the safe deposit boxes. Now."

"So many," Scrimshaw shrieked, curling back in his chair. "Not the horns!"

Maud choked on a giggle.

"Could you describe the goats?" Winnie asked, her pen poised. "For science!" she insisted when Sylla glared at her.

"Scrimshaw. The numbers," Sylla said again.

"Yes, yes, the numbers," Scrimshaw murmured, reaching out with a shaking hand for the pen that Sylla held towards him, casting nervous glances over his shoulder. "You'll keep them away?" he asked.

"As long as you cooperate."

When he had finished writing, Sylla picked up the paper, examined it with satisfaction, then folded it and tucked it into the neckline of her dress. She shook out her skirts.

"Well?" She lifted an eyebrow, looking between me and Scrimshaw. "What now?"

"Well, now he should—" I began, but I was cut off by Scrimshaw making a gurgling sound and slumping down in his chair. "Fall unconscious."

"Right on time," Winnie said, delighted, scribbling some more notes.

"And what if he hadn't given us the box numbers yet?" Sylla asked icily. "This whole operation has left far too much to chance."

"We got the numbers, didn't we?" Maud said. "I'll admit it hasn't gone completely smoothly—"

Sylla interrupted her with a snort.

"But for our first real job as a charm," Maud continued undaunted, "I'd say it was a success."

"We will discuss this later," Sylla said. "For now, Winnie and I need to leave out of the back before we are discovered, while you and Mari take care of that." She gestured disdainfully towards Scrimshaw, who had started snoring again. At least we hadn't killed him.

"I'll deliver the numbers to Mrs Finch, along with the key," Sylla continued. "You did get the key?"

I reached into the pocket of my low-cut ballgown – cherry red to match the rouge on my lips and cheeks – and pulled out the key I had lifted from Scrimshaw's associate earlier in the evening. He certainly hadn't minded my wandering hands. It had been a neat bit of pickpocketing – something I would never have expected to be a source of pride.

"Good," Sylla said, and it was ridiculous how widely this small, tepid bit of praise made me smile.

Sylla and Winnie departed, and Maud and I looked at one another for a moment.

"How do we get him back downstairs?" Maud asked.

"I think we can just sort of … roll him," I said.

"Not very dignified."

"Extorting all those poor widows out of their savings?" I shrugged. "It's the least he deserves."

Maud grinned. "Well, when you put it that way…"

With a lot of pushing and pulling, we succeeded in getting Scrimshaw back down the stairs. He remained dead to the world throughout, which was probably for the best.

When we reached the bottom, we managed to get him up on to his feet again, supporting him enough to drag him, stumbling, across the crowded gaming floor.

Several of Scrimshaw's friends called out with lewd congratulations, one or two sent wolf whistles in our direction. Maud offered them a bawdy wink, while I subtly lifted Scrimshaw's arm as if he were bidding them all a jaunty goodnight.

We stuffed Scrimshaw unceremoniously into a hackney carriage and gave the driver his address. The driver did not so much as blink. I suppose he had seen it all before.

"You're sure he won't remember anything?" Maud asked as we watched the carriage drive away into the night.

"He'll have a tremendous hangover, and thanks to all his friends he'll assume he had the night of his life." I dusted off my hands. "He won't know a thing until it's too late."

"You did well, Mari." Maud nudged me. "I know Sylla is mean with her praise, but the tincture was a tidy way of getting the information – he likely won't realize there's been a breach for days; it gives us time we wouldn't otherwise have had. You and Win and your potions … it's good work."

"It could have gone better." I sighed. "We cut it too close on the timings. Sylla was right: the formula isn't reliable enough yet…"

"We can make improvements," Maud said soothingly. "It takes time for everything to run like clockwork. The main thing is, thanks to us, all those innocent women get their money back. We helped people tonight – don't forget that."

Her words were like a warm blanket against the cool night air.

"You're right," I agreed, a smile spreading across my face. Now that we were out of the woods, relief swept through me. "My first big job done and we're all in one piece."

"Win didn't even blow anything up," Maud agreed with a laugh. "Cause for celebration. Come on, I think the newest member of the Aviary deserves a drink."