twenty-three

Poppy

Poppy didn't see Hades for an entire day after the pugilism incident. She knew that he purposefully stayed out of her way, but he was also a very busy man, so it was no surprise that he was absent for such a prolonged period of time.

Poppy tried not to think of him, which was to say that all she did was think of him.

But thankfully soon enough, Rania whisked her off to introduce her to more of the dancers. Poppy stayed as the women started their dance rehearsals for the evening. And every other thought fled from her mind.

Then they invited her to join them, and Poppy turned crimson.

"Do not be ashamed of your body, Poppy," Rania said, gathering her long, silky curtain of hair at the top of her head. "Do not fear it, either. Dance helps us get better acquainted with its shape and movements, and one must love one's own body, don't you think?"

"I have been accustomed to regard it as the root of all evil," Poppy replied. "A potential temptation to men, a tool for seduction. And little else."

"Well, that is not true," Rania replied simply. "Nothing tempts a man other than his own desire."

Poppy gaped.

"What?" Rania raised her eyebrows at her.

"That…that is Scripture," Poppy said slowly, "it's a verse."

"Indeed it is," Rania replied matter-of-factly. "Did you not think I read the Bible, or believed in it? Well, I do, which is why I can discern between the lies religious people say in order to control the poor and the weak, and what is actually God's honest truth. Quite literally, as it were."

Poppy, too shocked for words, gaped.

"Is there something about me that makes you think I might not be a person of faith?" Rania was laughing, regarding her. She was not laughing at her, not per se, but she obviously found her surprise amusing.

A lesser woman might have been insulted.

"I think I might need to rethink everything I thought I knew about God," Poppy said carefully. "And the kind of people who are true believers."

"It looks like you might," Rania said gently.

It all was beginning to make sense, in a strange, senseless kind of way. Rania's kindness, her openness, her wisdom…Poppy knew better than to question Rania's way of life and choices—it was not her business to weigh her friend against any of society's so-called standards. It was not her business to decide what another person's sin was or wasn't. But it stood to reason that there was more depth to Rania than met the eye.

Rania was not a perfect person; she was a good person.

It was much more important to be the latter, especially since the first was impossible.

Poppy felt that she had been swimming in cruelty, hypocrisy and lies for all her life, and that for the first time, things were beginning to make a tiny bit of sense. If the Almighty was the personification of all that was good and bright in this world, then that description fit Rania better than it ever had Poppy's brother, whom everyone hailed as a saint, but she herself had known to be evil beyond words.

"I can see the cogs turning inside your head," Rania was saying in low, patient tones.

She had stopped dancing to talk to Poppy, and sat by her as they watched the rest of the girls move gracefully like a flock of elegant swans across the dance floor of the great hall.

"I am here if you ever want to talk," Rania said, "but for now, you need to think. I shall only say one more thing: I am not without sin, far from it. But I do believe in a God of mercy, forgiveness and love. A God for sinners rather than saints. And I think that it would benefit you to believe in such a God yourself. You seem to be in need of all three—mercy, forgiveness and love. All people are, but us more than all people."

People like us, Poppy thought. A God for people like us.

A God she would have to get to know all over again, from the very beginning, on her own.

A happier thought had not occurred to her in years.

…

Night came around again, and with it, whispers.

The great hall was abuzz with speculation and everyone was gossiping that Hades was brewing something, but no one seemed to know what it was. The information differed vaguely, from rumors of an upcoming winter-themed ball, to a supposed invitation of the British militia to the Hell Club for a massive game of whist. Poppy knew that the truth fell wildly far from either of those rumors, but she got swept up in the general excitement.

The night was still young and Poppy, Rania and the dancers popped down to the kitchens for a spot of dinner before the dancing started. A few of the guards joined them, and they all happily sat down with the servants, stuffing pie in their mouths with little ceremony, when Poppy jumped from the stool she was sharing with Rania, and shushed everyone.

"Did you hear that?"

She had heard it, loud and clear:

A splash.

"Hear what, love?" Rania asked.

No one else had heard it. They insisted it was her imagination, and then began to tease her that she had been dipping in the cook's rum. But she heard it again.

While the others resumed their eating and gossiping, Poppy slipped from the room and followed the noise.

For the first time, it occurred to her that she might have developed some sort of acute oversensitivity to sound—or possibly to every sense—due to constantly living in a state of terror for the past six years.

That was why she kept hearing sounds from several rooms away and feeling so anxious about them that she had to discover their source.

Shuddering at the thought, she pressed on, following the splash.

It led her down several flights of stairs, until she heard the sound of water clearly. The distinct smell of enclosed, still waters met her nostrils, and the walls around her turned from the beautiful paneling of the club to the dark, jutting rocks of London's bedrock: She recognized the cave at once.

She was at Hades' infamous underground lake.

It looked entirely different from the dark, silent water Hades had taken her on in his little boat days ago. This time there were lanterns and torches illuminating the cavernous ceiling, the surface of the lake on fire with orange light.

Two small barges were rowing across the lake, already so far from the shore as to be small dots in the darkness. Their oars moved so vigorously that they raised big waves, splashing across the expanse of water, the swells eventually breaking at the shore, near her feet.

That was the sound that had travelled all the way up to the kitchens.

She could not tell how many people were on the barges, or who they were, but the boats were two, gliding close to each other on the water. Once they reached the small opening in the other side of the cave, one of them disappeared, escaping the confines of the Underworld's lake, and sailed out into what she supposed was the Thames. Within seconds, it quite disappeared from sight, and only one small boat remained behind it on the water.

The remaining, smaller barge turned immediately around and started rowing back to the shore. Poppy quickly hid in a crevice between the rocks, not wanting to be discovered spying on Hades, if indeed it was he inside the barge.

And then, everything happened so quickly, there was hardly time to react.

It truly seemed to happen within the blink of an eye.

The barge was nearly upon the shore, and Poppy could see Hades' tall, slim form on the boat a black silhouette against the rocks. It was close enough now that Poppy could discern his willowy build and long hair, his eyes shining like stars as he concentrated on rowing quickly across the water.

He hates it, doesn't he? He hates the water.

‘I can't swim myself, but the water is twice my height…'

He was still in deep waters, but it would take him less than a minute to reach the shallows. Poppy tried to calm the frenzied beating of her heart. He would soon be safe.

She was watching him row, mesmerized by the gentle sway of his long body, when a sudden movement on the other side of the cave caught her eye. She turned towards it: two men leapt from the shadows, seemingly one with the darkness. They must have come from the stairs she had just climbed down a moment or two ago, but they moved silently, hugging the rocks. Invisible. Poppy shrank further into the rock, her heart stuttering with terror.

But the men did not spare a glance to their surroundings. Their eyes were on the water, hungrily following Hades' lone barge.

They walked purposefully up to the water's edge, and continued, barely slowing at all as their boots splashed in the shallows. They proceeded to submerge themselves all the way up to their chins, whereupon they started swimming soundlessly towards the barge.

Poppy was close enough to hear their breaths coming short. Close enough to see the whites of their eyes glowing as they swam, the frowns on their faces, the scars on their skins. The glistening metal of the knives clasped between their teeth as they gained on Hades' barge.

"Hades!" Poppy screamed, and saw his hair whip around as he turned, startled by her voice.

He saw them; turned the barge around.

But it was too late, and the barge was too big to turn quickly in such a narrow space. The men with the knives had reached him in the water.

They started climbing on board.

Poppy left her hiding place and cast about for some way to help. She had no light, no weapon, and every time she took a step, she encountered a pebble or some other anomaly on the ground which sent sharp stabs of pain up her bad leg and made her stumble and nearly fall. She was useless, completely useless to help him.

"Give us the prince," she heard a rough voice yell over the water. "Time is up, Mikailoff. Deliver the prince to us."

She froze. The men had both climbed on the barge, crowding Hades to the edge, his back almost hanging over the water. But he appeared calm, his back straight, his voice steady and mocking as he replied:

"How much will you give me for betraying him?"

The water carried the sound perfectly to her.

Panting, Poppy turned her attention to the shore, looking for something, anything that might help her. There was nothing except for two dilapidated, tiny boats with their oars. They looked as if they were full of holes—useless. If she ran for help now, it would take her forever to limp up five flights of stairs and call for Wilder. Hades would surely be dead by the time she even reached the first floor.

"I might let you live," one of the men replied to Hades. "You'll be grateful to be alive, trust me, even without a finger or two. I'll think about it."

Poppy shuddered.

"Or an arm or two," the man's companion added. They chuckled.

"Have at it," Hades replied, his voice harsh and strong. There was not a trace of fear in it, and a sudden surge of pride flooded her heart for him. She saw him stand tall and balance himself on the boat, his arms outstretched, holding two knives. Her heart gave a thud of hope. "Nicky is too good a friend to give to you to murder. Besides, he's on his way to France by now. Good luck finding him there."

"If you don't tell us which way he went," the man growled, "we won't kill you. Your friend Wilder is next, and then one of your lovely dancers. I bet she'll make a lovely sound as we cut off her ears one by—"

Poppy swallowed past bile.

"No need for all that," Hades said quickly and Poppy knew his voice well enough to detect the tremor in it, although it was barely discernable. "No one else even knew of the prince's existence in the Underworld. I took precautions. I'm afraid I am your last hope, gentlemen."

The word ‘gentlemen' was uttered with such contempt Poppy wouldn't be surprised if Hades had spit it at their faces.

"Then I hope you enjoy being dismembered alive and then buried underneath your own club," the man said.

"This is Mayfair, my good man," Hades said lightly, almost laughing in his face. "I would not mind at all, I assure you, except, under the circumstances, one ought to be somewhat civilized, don't you think?"

"You will surely die if this revolution starts from your club," the man leaned in and hissed, his nose inches from Hades'. "It don't matter how we'll do it. If you do not deliver the prince to us, you will not survive to see the war."

Hades' large shoulders shrugged, casting shadows against the torch's light.

"In that case," he said, "you could just throw me in the lake now."

So they did.