The Friday Society Page 8

  “I don’t blame you for your concern, but you really ought to know that the biggest problem with having a dead body in the house, I imagine, is the smell. Really, of all the bodies in the world, a dead one is the least offensive, when you think about it,” replied Cora.

  Nellie thought about it.

  “Still scares the shite out of me.”

  “Well . . . yes . . .”

  “Not sayin’ it makes sense.”

  “A lot of what we feel isn’t rational. I, for example . . .” Cora stopped speaking. Nellie watched her think something over. Then: “Well, hang it all. You’ve shared with me, I can share with you. But this is top secret, okay? My reputation, indeed my job, depends on your discretion.”

  Nellie nodded. She loved secret stuff. Anything, even the simplest gossip, excited her. Unlike some, however, she had no need to spread the news about. She just liked knowing for her own sake.

  “Cross my heart and spit in yer eye,” she said.

  “My eye?”

  “What’s the secret?”

  She listened as Cora explained about her boss and his lab. About how she got to work with all kinds of cool equipment and assist with all these crazy experiments. Then she started on about a someone named Mr. Harris:

  “And it’s not his fault that Lord White hired him—after all, he was just applying for a job. But I hate him for taking something that I thought was special to me away. Not that it’s even been taken away. You see? Emotions aren’t rational. I ought to be happy that there’s someone to share the workload, and instead, all I can think of is punching him in the face.”

  “Do you fancy him?”

  “What?”

  “Oh, is he that ugly, then?”

  “. . . No . . . I mean, that’s not the point . . .”

  “No you don’t fancy him, or no he’s not ugly.”

  “Uh . . . well, both.”

  Nellie nodded.

  Cora rolled her eyes.

  “Ugly!” insisted Scheherazade.

  The cab lurched to a violent stop, tossing both girls and parrot across to the opposite seat. After fighting away a flapping Scheherazade, whom Nellie plucked out of the air and held tightly on her lap, Cora opened a window. She leaned out, letting in some of the hot steam that was quickly dissipating now that they’d stopped.

  “Do be more careful now, would you!” she called out.

  “Sorry, miss,” returned the hoarse voice of their cabby. “Just there’s a carriage up ahead, and it’s blocking this side of the street. Came right out of the fog, it did. Didn’t hardly see it till we come upon it.”

  “Yes, well, fine. And how are you planning on remedying the situation?” Cora asked.

  “Back in a tick,” replied the cabby. Nellie watched him jump down and make his way over to the other carriage. She looked over at Cora, who’d brought her head back inside, and sighed.

  There was a strange sound from the street.

  “Did our cabby just cry out?” Cora asked.

  Before Nellie could answer, Cora was out of the cab and heading over to the carriage.

  “Shite,” said Nellie under her breath, and went to join her. Scheherazade remained unusually quiet on her shoulder as they walked over, and Nellie could understand her silence. The air was still and thick. The fog danced around her in thick white waves. There was a tingle running up her spine, an instinct that something wasn’t right. The carriage up ahead looked too black, almost like a slain beast.

  Nellie watched as the cabby tried to hold Cora back, but there was no stopping the girl. She was a determined one, that was for sure.

  “No, young miss, don’t . . .” said the cabby as she flew past him. Nellie saw Cora hunched over something . . . No. Not something. Someone . . . It was . . .

  “That Japanese girl from the show. She’s out cold,” said Cora quietly as Nellie knelt beside her.

  What in the world . . .? “Is she all right?”

  “I think so. Yes, she’s still breathing.”

  “Well . . . not sure why the cabby was so freaked out, then, just a girl on the ground . . .”

  “No, I think he found that slightly more upsetting,” replied Cora pointing. Nellie turned to look, and saw a head lying on its side staring up at her, eyes empty, face bloodied, neck . . . dripping. It was maybe all of three feet away.

  “Mary, Mother of God.” Nellie stood up and covered her mouth, looking back at Cora wide-eyed.

  Cora said nothing, but carefully pushed the Japanese girl’s hair from off her face. She reached out and gently touched a piece of metal protruding from her cheek.

  Nellie was shaking now. She also felt sick to her stomach. A head. A human head. A vaguely familiar human head. Oh God. “I’ve decided a head is far worse than a dead body.”

  “Good,” said Cora, rising. “Because we ought to take this girl back to your flat so she has a safe place to recover. Maybe she can tell us what happened.”

  Nellie looked at Cora. For the first time she could tell that the girl wasn’t nearly as calm as she sounded. She could see the fear hidden just under the surface. It was another thing Nellie had learned from the Magician, how to read people’s expressions. Helped with the psychic bit in the show.

  Fine. Of course. “Yes, come on, then. Yes.”

  “Oi!” Cora called out, and Nellie started. Weird word choice for a high-class girl like that. “Carry this girl into the carriage and let’s get to this young lady’s flat as quickly as possible. When we arrive, you must then notify the police of this beastly situation.”

  “Yes’m,” replied the cabby quietly.

  “Well, come on, then!” Cora was sounding more exasperated now as she bent to pick up the satchel of weapons that the Japanese girl had used in her performance. As they returned to the cab, Nellie heard her mutter something about having to do everything herself.

  Cora sat on one side of the cab this time, with the Japanese girl lying across the seat, her head in her lap, and Nellie took the other side with Scheherazade firmly on her shoulder, her talons holding on maybe a little too hard. They lurched slightly as the cab started moving again.

  There was a moment of silence.

  “Well, this is what I’d call an eventful evening,” said Nellie quietly.

  “Indeed.” Cora sighed and looked out the window.

  “And it’s not over yet.” Nellie, too, glanced out the window, watching as the carriage and its severed head disappeared into a combination of fog and steam behind them. “Fact is,” she added, “I’ve a funny feeling that this is just the beginning.”

  Cora looked back at Nellie just as Nellie turned to look at her, and they made eye contact.

  There was a squawk that broke their silence, and both girls looked at Scheherazade.

  “Death!” said the parrot helpfully.

  PART TWO

  The Beginning

  PART TWO

  The Beginning

  13

  A Spot of Tea

  “NICE PLACE YOU have here,” said Cora, easing herself into a chair.

  “Uh . . . thanks?” replied Nellie. She carefully placed the tea tray on the table between them.

  “No, no, I mean it! I do. It’s very nice. Sometimes the way I say things comes across the opposite of what I mean. I don’t know why.”

  “Maybe it’s your tone. Sugar?” Nellie dangled the tongs over the sugar bowl.

  “No, thank you, I take it black.”

  Nellie nodded and took two cubes for herself.

  “Maybe it is my tone. It must be. People think I can be awfully harsh.”

  “People think I’m stupid.” Nellie sat down in the chair opposite Cora and handed over to her a cup of tea. “Happens.”

  “Doesn’t it frustrate you, though?”

  Nellie thought about it for a minute. Yes. And no. It didn’t really matter to her that much. The Magician respected her and that’s all that really counted.

  “Sometimes. But of all the things I gotta put up with
, I find dealin’ with boys by far the most trying.”

  “I don’t see why. They seem to just adore you.”

  “That’s the problem.”

  Scheherazade interrupted the conversation with a squawk and a gymnastic attempt to grab herself a sugar cube, resulting in the entire bowl being turned over along with the milk.

  “Blasted bird!” said Nellie, jumping to her feet as Cora did the same. “Bad Sherry!” Able to do little else, as Scheherazade had flown up to the top of the cabinets with her prize, Nellie admonished the parrot with a wave of her finger.

  “Tasty,” commented the parrot in response.

  “Sorry ’bout that.” Nellie sighed. She didn’t know why, but for some reason she was really intent on impressing Cora. Didn’t seem to be going too well at the moment. Cora gave her a nod with a tight-lipped smile. Then Nellie noticed her focus shift to a point beyond her shoulder.

  She turned.

  “Excuse please. Where am I?”

  The Japanese girl was standing in the doorway to the kitchen, her hand absentmindedly stroking the stitches on her cheek. Cora had done quite a decent job as nurse to the girl. Evidently, as she’d explained to Nellie, she herself had had her share of accidents and had lots of experience with fixing a broken body.

  “Michiko, right?” said Cora, walking over to the girl and giving her a soft smile.

  The girl pointed to herself and nodded. “Michiko.”

  “I’m Cora, and this is Nellie.”

  Nellie gave a little wave. “Hiya.”

  Michiko nodded again. Then: “Where am I?”

  “Do sit down,” said Cora, escorting her to the kitchen table while Nellie drew up a chair for her. As Michiko sat, Cora explained. “We found you on the street. On the street? Yes?”

  Michiko looked at her with what seemed to be great apprehension. “Street. Yes.”

  “We”—Cora gestured to herself and Nellie—“found you.” She pointed to Michiko. “You were . . . God, ‘unconscious’ is such a complicated word.” She looked at Nellie for help.

  “Asleep?” suggested Nellie. She looked at Michiko, closed her eyes, and cocked her head to the side.

  “Yes. You were . . . sleeping,” Cora said.

  “No,” replied Michiko, shaking her head.

  “Yes; yes, that’s what happened.”

  “No. Not sleeping. I . . .” She looked frustrated with herself and clenched her fists. Then she touched the back of her head tenderly. She apparently found what she was looking for because she turned around to show Cora what she was touching. She pulled at her hair so that Cora could have a closer look.

  Nellie came over to look, too.

  “A bump,” said Cora, examining her. “Dried blood, too. Someone attacked you? That’s why you were . . . asleep.”

  “Not asleep!” Michiko was obviously getting angry.

  “No, not asleep. You were unconscious. Hit on the head. Hit. And then you . . . black. Everything went black. Not asleep. Unconscious.”

  Michiko appeared to calm down then. “Not asleep. Un . . . con . . . shus.”

  Cora glanced up at Nellie and Nellie gave a small smile. They were on the same page at last.

  “Who did it?” Nellie asked. “Who hit you . . .?”

  Michiko looked at Nellie, and Nellie was pretty sure that in that moment she recognized her from the show. Michiko shook her head. “Fog. Thick. Don’t . . . don’t . . .”

  “Don’t?” asked Cora. “Don’t remember? Don’t know, is that it?”

  “Don’t know.” Michiko nodded. “I fight him. Lost.” She touched her cheek again.

  “Uh, yes, I did that. Hope that’s okay. Here.” Cora reached into her purse and pulled out the small piece of metal she’d extracted from Michiko’s cheek. She handed it to Michiko.

  Michiko shook her head. “No, thank you.”

  “You fought him?” interjected Nellie.

  Michiko nodded.

  “Wow. And you lost to him? You? He must be good.”

  Michiko sighed hard. “Good yes. Katana bad.”

  “What’s ‘katana’?” Nellie asked Cora, who shrugged in response.

  Michiko sighed again.

  “This is all so odd,” said Cora, leaning back in her chair. “Why would this mysterious man in the fog kill Dr. Welland? And why would he leave her alive?”

  “Dr. Welland? You knew him?” Nellie sat down next to Cora quickly. Well, this was news!

  “Not personally, not really. He was the one who went onstage before you, with the cavorite bird.”

  “Yes! Now I remember. What kind of bird?”

  “The one that flew around; the one fueled by cavorite.”

  “What’s cavorite?”

  “It was only discovered last year. A glowing green metal that defies gravity. It can be used as an energy source to lift something otherwise not able to fly up off the ground, or you can melt it and cover an object with it and make the entire object lighter than air. Of course, doing that means you have to have a way to tether whatever the object is to the ground or it will just keep flying up and up. So most people just use the metal as an energy source. The air force has made a rather large order for it, and they’ve started outfitting their ships. It’s a much more reliable means of lifting something into the air, you see, than, say, the hydrogen used in dirigibles, and it seems to sustain itself infinitely. Though, of course, that’s not really possible.”

  “So that’s what that glowing green business was.”

  “Indeed. In any event, Dr. Welland was one of the men who helped isolate and refine it. I say. That could be meaningful, I suppose.”

  “You mean like rivalry, or something. Jealousy?” Nellie was all too familiar with that. How many times had rival illusionists attempted to sabotage one of the Magician’s shows?

  “Possibly.” Though Cora didn’t appear entirely convinced.

  “Or not.”

  “It’s just . . . I don’t know, none of this makes sense. But I suppose the police will investigate.”

  Nellie felt a bit disappointed that Cora was so willing to let the matter drop. It was exciting, all this murder business. And, yes, sad, terribly sad, she supposed . . . but it wasn’t like she’d known the man. Wow. She was terrible.

  “I think it’s time to move on to the harder stuff,” said Cora, examining her empty teacup.

  Nellie grinned. “Yeah, I’m all for that. But Raheem doesn’t drink.”

  Cora reached into her purse and produced a silver flask. “Yes, but I do.”

  14

  Just Your Average Turn-of-the-Century Slumber Party with a Dead Body.

  You Know How It Is.

  CLEARLY CORA WAS the kind of girl who could hold her booze. Nellie was feeling downright drunk after two sips from the flask. It was scotch. Good scotch. Or, at least, strong scotch. She really wasn’t the kind of person who could tell quality scotch from not.

  Even tiny Michiko appeared only mildly tipsy. Or, at least, that’s what Nellie assumed. The few shy smiles that broke the Japanese girl’s serious expression seemed to suggest that she’d let her guard down a little.

  “No!” said Cora with a laugh. “And stop saying it!”

  “I’m only sayin’ it because you keep on going on about him.”

  “I keep going on about him because I hate him. Because of the unfairness of the world. I’m just as good as he is, probably better, but because I’m a girl—”

  “You’re in love with Mr. Harris.”

  “Am not!”

  “Are, too.”

  “Yes!” insisted Michiko, even though both girls were pretty sure she had no idea what they were talking about.

  “Let’s play a game,” said Cora, obviously trying to change the subject. The three of them were now in Nellie’s room, sitting on her bed. Cora had escaped from her gorgeous red satin gown and was now wearing nothing but her undergarments, sitting cross-legged at the foot. Nellie was in her nightgown under the covers, and Michiko was still
in her costume, sitting on a chair to the side.

  “Don’t change the subject!” said Nellie.

  “I damn well will. Do you know any games?”

  Nellie sighed. She thought back to her time backstage at the burlesque house with the other girls. They had gotten up to all kinds of mischief, but they usually required a theater and rigging . . . But, oh! “Let’s play ‘answer the question or do the deed’!”

  “What’s that?” asked Cora, taking another sip from her flask.

  “Well,” said Nellie, hugging her knees up to her chin, “you have a choice. Either you answer any question we ask, or Michiko and I get to make you do something.”

  “That’s it?” asked Cora.

  “That’s it. Not good enough for you, is it?”

  “Just very simple. No points system, no rules?”

  “Rule is, you can’t lie, and you can’t back out of doing the deed.”

  Cora passed the now much lighter flask over to Nellie. “Okay. Let’s play.”

  Nellie took the flask and a swig of scotch. It burned for a moment, then she passed it on to Michiko, who took a tiny sip.

  “Who’s first, then?” asked Nellie.

  “I’ll go.”

  “Right. So. Which you want to do?”

  “I’ll answer a question.”

  Now, in all fairness, Nellie knew she should consult with Michiko over what to ask, but it didn’t seem like the poor girl was really going to be able to contribute to the game. Still, she turned to her and said slowly, “What should we ask her?”

  Michiko furrowed her fine eyebrows. “Ask her?”

  “For the game.”

  “Game?”

  “Okay, I’ll ask. Why does your accent slip, like when you’re angry, or now, when you’re toasted?”

  Cora smiled. “That’s an easy one. I was born on the street, grew up in the East End until I was ten, when Lord White hired me.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah. I’ve worked at changing it, but sometimes when I’m not totally in control, I slip up a bit.”

  “Neat.”

  “Is it my turn now?” asked Cora, sitting herself up on her knees. She looked excited, and that made Nellie nervous.