Taking the Fall

Chapter 3

Chapter 3“You’re a mess, Elis.”

Careful fingers stroked strands of hair off Elis’s face. A cool palm pressed against his damp forehead. Elis sighed. It felt good.

“What have you done to yourself, Elis?”

The voice was familiar, reassuring. Elis’s heart clenched. He blinked slowly, focusing on the glowing halo of hair, too bright and clean for this hellhole, framing Latham’s face.

Elis’s throat closed and his eyes stung. “Victor?”

Latham smiled, a delicate curve to his beautiful mouth. He didn’t say anything else, just carried on stroking Elis’s face, staring at him with fond, sparkling blue eyes.

Staring? His eyes were meeting Elis’s, peering into him.

“You’re not real.” Elis’s voice caught. He angrily cleared his throat but couldn’t summon enough will to push the phantom away.

“I am.”

“But you’re not here.”

“Elis.”

“Stop.”

Latham continued to smile, making Elis’s chest hurt.

When Elis blinked, he was alone, huddled in his blankets, the room lit dimly by streetlights beyond his window. He chased the heat of his dream, but couldn’t hold onto it. When he couldn’t go back to sleep, he groaned and scraped together enough energy to drag himself from his bed, blanket hugged around him. He bent to ignite his stove. The air misted around his face with every breath. He shuffled to his dwindling food stash and found some bread just on the right side of stale and chewed it until the hollowness in his belly didn’t hurt anymore. He ate in front of his tiny stove, staring into the orange glow, trying to ignore the aches and pains throughout his body. His tired eyelids creaked with every blink.

He was a mess. Latham, or rather his subconscious, already knew, but today was a new low. He imagined what Latham would think if he learned of what Elis had done last night, what Elis had become, what he’d been reduced to. Another wave of nausea hit him. He shuddered and gritted his teeth.

Latham had made his choice and how Elis decided to live his life had nothing to do with him.

He was tired. He was used to it, had spent so many years surviving off the few quiet hours he could snatch as he lay restless in his bed. But this was something new and entirely intolerable. When he forced himself to sleep through drink or bodily exhaustion, he was haunted by could-haves and what-ifs and the impossibilities of a…a life he could have had…with Latham.

He was too wound up to dwell in self-pity, too annoyed with his own company. He needed something to occupy his mind. He needed a job. It was well past time to crawl back to Mullen, to beg for something, anything to make him useful, to distract him. Could he stand it? Was the humiliation preferable to this, living inside his own self-made hell?

In between mindless bouts of closing his eyes and waking seconds before accidently kissing the stove’s glowing orange grill as he swayed forward, Elis watched the winter sun slowly light the sky with her best efforts before being dulled by snow clouds.

Enough. It was time to start again, to move on. The thought was cemented when he got up and looked into his small shaving mirror and wanted to look away again. It was not a pretty sight, bruises and eye bags, sallow skin and stubble getting dangerously close to being a full beard. His usually short, forever tight black curls were falling about his face in greasy strands. His breath could kill a man at five paces.

It took a long time for Elis to slap himself together and feel a little more human. Human enough to walk the streets without terrifying the populous of the city with his scowling face. The cold cut through him as the wind picked up the freshly fallen snow, blowing it about Elis’s face. He pulled his hat low, turned up his collar, and tried to shorten his neck to block out the cold, but it cut just as deep.

He made it to Mullen’s office and was glad for the newly built-in heating which bathed him efficiently as soon as he crossed the threshold. He didn’t remove his coat. He would enjoy the warmth for as long as he could.

Scared Mullen would turn him away, Elis felt trapped. The desire to retreat was as strong as his will to demand work. The decision was taken out of his hands when Mullen’s door opened and the man himself stood in the doorway.

“You’d better come in Elis,” he said with a resignation which didn’t fill Elis with any semblance of hope. When he didn’t offer Elis a seat, Elis’s gut gave an uncomfortable churn.

Mullen cast him an assessing once over. Despite Elis’s best effort of washing his hair and shaving his face clean, he knew he was a mess. The bruises from his night in the ring only added to his deathly pallor and tired eyes. He’d washed away the smell of drink, but knew it still showed on his face and in the way he moved. He shouldn’t have come here, but what other choice did he have?

“What brings you here, Elis?” Mullen asked casually, as though the weeks between their last meeting hadn’t happened. Elis sorely wished it hadn’t, but it was too late for that.

“I’m ready to work. Anything you have for me.”

“Elis—”

“I’m ready. Please Charlie. I need to work.” Elis stopped, tried to calm down when he saw how Mullen was looking at him with disapproval.

“Elis,” he said slowly, firmly, “I have nothing for you.”

“There has to be something.” Elis hated how his voice strained, how desperate he sounded. He forced himself to keep eye contact with Mullen’s hard stare, looking into his lightly freckled, deceptively youthful face.

“Elis, how much have you slept? Drank?” He didn’t give Elis time to answer. “I can’t have you running around the city under my name in this state. What use are you to me or anyone else? Go home and sort yourself out.”

Elis wanted to argue, but Mullen hadn’t said outright for Elis to leave and never come back. He didn’t want to push Mullen too hard, forcing him to say it. “You’ll contact me if anything comes up?”

Mullen regarded him then smiled warmly as though Elis was once again the child he had picked off the street to run an errand for him years ago, promising a copper Knuckle for a job well done. “Go get some sleep Elis.”

Elis left, but he didn’t go home. Even if he did, he wouldn’t be able to rest. He was too tightly wound from his talk with Mullen, too annoyed with his own pitiful begging to simply give in. He entered the Lower and hung around for a few hours, taking in faces, watching people perform the same routines they did every day. Even in the Lower, much like in the Upper, everyone had their part to play. There were food vendors, but where they sold dainty pastries and sugar rich coffee in the Upper, here in the Lower you got a pie with questionable fillings and a mouthful of brown grit doctored to cover up the taste. Where women of the Upper strolled about, looking into shop windows and admiring the displays, down here, the women were the displays, calling out to potential customers. The homeless beggars were universal, but when they pleaded for alms in the Upper, they were quickly moved on and brought back to these depths where there wasn’t much point begging for what others didn’t have to give.

The cold weather forced some of the more desperate to seek shelter in derelict buildings, which were either already occupied and jealously guarded by their illegal occupants or close to collapse. For some, it was better to risk dying by falling bricks or roof tiles than brave the freezing nights outside. The fresh layer of snow hid some of the filth, creating a clean canvas, but it wouldn’t last. Soon the decay and rot would start to show again.

Elis’s fingers were starting to grow numb, and he was beginning to think he was wasting his time when he spotted the face he’d been searching for. Jonah, a street youth he’d used previously as a messenger, seemed to have experienced a growth spurt in the months since Elis had last seen him. That and the fact he was not dressed in the grubby, oversized coat with its many secret pockets. Indeed, he had an entire new set of clothes, most likely second hand, but still an improvement on his last set. His hair and face were also clean of muck, and he walked a little straighter.

“Well look at you,” Elis said when he caught the lad’s eye and beckoned him over.

“Look at you,” Jonah replied, looking Elis up and down with a quirked brow that was comical on his cherub face. “You been sleeping rough?”

“Don’t be cheeky. I’ve got a job for you.”

“Don’t need it. I got a new job, ain’t I?”

“As what?”

“That lord fella you had me chasing around before. I work for him now.”

Elis’s stomach tightened. “Latham?”

“Yeah. On that new town he’s building outside the Lower. I fetch and carry mostly, delivering letters, that sort of thing.”

That explained the new clothes. Elis moved past his discomfort, wondering if talking to Jonah would somehow get back to Latham. “Do you know a young woman called Lizzy?”

Jonah’s face lit up and blushed alarmingly red. “I know Liz. She works for Lord Latham too.”

“Good. Can you tell her to meet me at the Scarlet Sclera pub?”

Jonah gave Elis a suspicious glare. “What do you want her for?”

“She wants to see me.”

Jonah’s eyes narrowed further. “How much?”

“I thought you were a working man now.”

“Don’t mean I can’t do a little extra on the side.”

Elis couldn’t help but smile, charmed by the lad’s moxie. He pulled out some change and the lad pocketed it.

“Why don’t you just go see her yourself? She’s staying with his lordship at the minute, in his fancy es-tab-lish-ment.” Jonah said the word slowly, enunciating each syllable like he’d recently learned it. “On The Marrow.”

Elis felt the earth shift under his feet, like someone had tripped him and he couldn’t regain his balance. “She’s living with him?”

“Yeah. They don’t do nothing,” Jonah blurted, like a gentleman jumping in to protect a lady’s honor. “She’s in his spare room.”

Elis’s former room.

“Lizzy’s a real lady.”

“I’m sure she is.” He tried to smile but it hurt his face. “Will you tell her?”

Jonah gave a single nod. “I will.”

Elis went to the pub and ordered some food while he waited. The smell of beer had his stomach turning over and his game pie was cold and the pastry stale, but he choked it down as he waited for Lizzy, ignoring the thought of Latham cohabiting with a woman. When she appeared, Lizzy looked less happy to see Elis than she had the night before. She was still twitchy, uncomfortable, but she sat opposite Elis and said, “Well, I’m here. What do you want?”

“I’ve changed my mind. I’ll do it.” He hoped it didn’t show on his face how difficult this was for him, to willingly re-enter Latham’s world when he’d tried so hard to avoid it, to forget.

Lizzy eyed him suspiciously. “Why? What’s changed?”

Elis couldn’t answer. It was too pathetic to admit he had nothing else better to do and deep down he was still worried about Latham and his mad schemes. “Do you want my help or not?”

“Yes,” she answered too quickly, betraying her own desperation. “Yes. I don’t know who else to ask. Thank you,” she added belatedly, softly.

Elis offered to buy her a meal while they spoke. She looked in need of a good few feeds. At first she declined, but when Elis insisted gently, she yielded but only picked at her plate when it arrived. Her movements were delicate and graceful. It was a strange pleasure to watch her, like watching a rehearsed performance.

She laid out the facts to him between small bites. “I thought, when Freddy—I mean Mason, began sending his men to harass Victor, it was revenge for taking me away from him, that he…missed me. But I know how foolish I was. Mason has many other girls he runs. I was never important to him. I think he’s angrier at the hit to his pride rather than losing me.” Her eyes shone with hurt Elis couldn’t understand. Wasn’t she glad to be free of Mason?

“So he’s going after Latham for revenge?”

“I thought so at first, but I fear there is more to it now. Sometimes, when he didn’t know I was listening, Mason would boast about a benefactor, someone who was helping keep him out of prison.”

“Do you know who?”

She shook her head. “He never said a name and I never saw any such man. Surely, he must be a wealthy merchant or more likely a noble, to wield such influence.”

Elis nodded. “And you think this man has set Mason against Latham? Why?”

“Victor has not exactly made himself popular amongst his peers.”

Elis’s nerves prickled at her casual use of Latham’s name. Were they close? The only time Elis had called Latham by his name had been in bed, in Latham’s arms. He swallowed and forced himself to focus on Lizzy, shoving away the unnerving spike of unease and jealousy.

“Most think Victor’s philanthropic bent to help the Lower is, at best, a waste of time and resources or at worst, a dangerous precedent to set.”

Elis had heard this before. He understood why other nobles would deem Latham’s activities bizarre. As a noble, it was practically unheard of for them to set a single foot in the Lower. It was something else entirely to make it your life’s mission to set up shop there, associate with the residents and pool all your efforts and resources into improving their lot in life. “So this benefactor’s paying Mason and his men to keep ruining Latham’s progress?”

“Yes, but I suspect it is only a distraction, a way to attack Victor on both sides.”

“Slow down his progress in the Lower while trying to discredit him among the nobles?”

“Exactly. Reputation in high society is just as valuable as the coin you possess. If they destroy Victor’s name, he will not be able to move among society, making it hard or impossible for him to maintain his businesses, while also forcing him to plough money into the Lower as any progress he makes will be destroyed by Fred—Mason’s men.”

Elis sat back in his chair and thought, pulling out and lighting a cigarette to aid the process. He sucked in a lungful of glorious smoke, exhaled, then said, “Have you told Latham about your theories?”

“Of course, but he says he can handle it. I know he’s very capable, but this is beyond him. It’s why I came to you. At least with Mason dealt with, Victor can put all his efforts into fighting just one enemy.”

“Why hasn’t Latham reported any of this to the Leuks?” Last time he and Latham had discussed this, Latham had been happy to leave it to the authorities to sort out.

Lizzy hesitated, looking down at her plate. “Because of me. It’s my fault.” Her bottom lip wobbled and her eyes screwed shut, but after a moment she managed to hold back the tears and clear her throat.

She was so gentle and slight, like a delicate flower with easily bruised petals which Mason had tried to spoil. If anything else needed to convince Elis that Latham wasn’t bedding her, it was that. She’d never be able to withstand Latham’s firm handling. Or would he make an exception for her, treat her gently? The thought conjured memories of lying in Latham’s arms, of how carefully Latham had treated him during and after their love making. Is that what it was? Could it be called something other than f*****g? Elis was surprised how sad the thought made him, how much it weighed down his heart. He unclenched his jaw and refocused on Lizzy. Now was not the time to wallow. He’d had enough of that.

“I doubt it’s your fault,” Elis said, unsure if it would come as any consolation.

Lizzy shook her head. “No. If I hadn’t been so stupid, if I hadn’t gone with Mason to begin with, none of this would have happened. None of it.” She stopped and drew in a sharp, shuddering breath, once more on the precipice of tears. “You see, I was not only one of Mason’s whores. We are married.”

Elis nearly inhaled his cigarette.

“If Victor gets the authorities involved, Mason can counter his attempt by accusing Victor of stealing his wife. And with our history, they would probably deem it a real possibility.”

“Who’s history?”

“Mine and Victor’s. Once, years ago, we were engaged.”

Elis’s heart ground to a sudden, painful halt.

“It was an arrangement made by our parents when we were children, but it never came to pass.”

Elis stared at her, unable to comprehend what she was saying. He shouldn’t have been surprised. Latham was nobility, an heir. It was expected he marry and sire the next lord and continue his lineage. How had he allowed himself to forget?

He looked at Lizzy in a new light. Who was she? She wasn’t some poor unfortunate who had sought out Mason out of desperation. She was someone, someone high enough on the social ladder to be betrothed to a title. Elis wanted to ask who she was, what had happened, but she continued before he could find the words.

“If it wasn’t for my stupidity, Victor would never have gotten involved. And then there’s Mr. Thorn.” Her voice broke and she had to shut her eyes to stop tears from falling. She didn’t quite manage it. “He’s been so kind to me even though I don’t deserve it.”

Elis saw something in her eyes when she spoke of Thorn, Latham’s foreman, who had helped rescue her from Mason’s clutches. It was sad and lonely, full of longing and affection. Thorn was a great improvement on Mason, but he was the size of a bear and looked like he could eat Lizzy as a small appetizer.

He waited for Lizzy to collect herself before asking, “Latham doesn’t know you’re here, that you came to me?” He already thought he knew the answer, but he had to make sure.

“No. Victor told me to leave Mason to him. But how can I when I brought this to his door?”

“If you can, please don’t tell him I’m investigating this.”

Lizzy looked like she might question why, but stopped herself and said, “Is that possible? He may find out.”

“I’ll deal with it if he does.”

She glanced down at her plate then shook her head and said, “Why? I don’t wish to pry, but Victor is…” Her pale cheeks flushed pink. “He’s very important to me and I would know if there is some reason he wouldn’t want you involved.”

Elis’s heartbeat quickened and his hands grew cold.

“Perhaps I should speak to him,” she said uncertainly.

“No,” Elis said too quickly, startling Lizzy. She flinched. Elis held out his hand in apology. “I’m sorry, but no, it wouldn’t be wise to tell Latham. We…we didn’t part on good terms.” That was a lie. Though painful and humiliating on Elis’s part, Latham had done his best to be honest and there had been no raised voices or fists thrown. But Lizzy didn’t need to know that. Unless she already did.

She nodded and fell silent. Elis brought them back to why they were here. “Do you have any information that would help me stop Mason? Gambling debts, people he’s betrayed or owes money to, anything?” He needed something solid, something that would want this benefactor to distance himself from Mason if it became public knowledge.

Lizzy took a breath, her brows drawing together. “There’s no need for any of that. There is a much simpler solution. Mason needs to be dealt with permanently.” There was no flicker of doubt, her hatred and certainty so plain it had Elis blinking at her in surprise.

“I know this isn’t…I know this isn’t what you do. But Mason is evil. There’s no other word for it. He is a rabid dog run free of its leash for far too long. He needs putting down.”

Elis leaned in closer, checking no one was paying them attention, no one listening in, and said, “I won’t disagree with you. If I’d had my way when we’d first met, we wouldn’t need to have this conversation.” Latham would not have approved, and no doubt would have handed Elis over to the Leuks if Elis had finished the bastard off.

Lizzy gave a shuddering breath, her eyes wet with relief.

“But I can’t do it.”

Her face crumbled. “But…” Her breath caught. “He…he hurt me.” She was so small and fragile when she said that. She cleared her throat and added, “And many others.” Tears were flowing freely now. Elis couldn’t stand it, seeing all the horror and pain she had endured at Mason’s hand, the fear she suffered even now. He saw her nightmares and her terrors.

“I’ll look into this Lizzy, but I can’t promise anything. I’d prefer not to be hanged, even for that bastard’s murder.”

Lizzy wiped angrily at her eyes and drew a deep breath before shaking her head. “He won’t stop. He never stops. He’s been arrested, made it all the way to the gallows, but the noose is always loosened before he drops, and he goes free.” She looked close to despair but kept herself in check. “But, I understand. I should not have asked this of you. Forgive me. If I know anything of Victor, he would not call a man his friend if he was so easily swayed to kill another.”

Elis didn’t know what to say to that. Latham had never, and would never, call Elis a friend. “I’ll do what I can Lizzy. Stay with Latham. You’re safe with him.”

She gave a small uncertain smile, looked away from Elis and said, “I know.”