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Crane had spent his entire adult life in Shanghai, cheek by jowl with smugglers, prostitutes, gamblers, killers, traders, drinkers, shamans, painters, corrupt officials, slumming mandarins, poets, opium eaters, and other such scum, and he loved that sweaty, vivid, intoxicated world. Polite soirees and elegant dinners with people whose achievement in life began and ended with birth held no appeal at all.
my dear fellow, if you’re after any particular information, you know him better than I do.” “I know he’s like you,” Rackham said. “Like me.” Crane kept his tone easy. “Yes, the resemblance is striking. I could be looking in a mirror.”
“Don’t threaten me! You’ll regret it!” “I haven’t threatened you, you worthless coward, nor will I. I’ll just go straight to the part where I break your arms.”
and...I enjoy his company. I’d call him a just man, rather than a righteous one, though.” “Interesting distinction. Does Merrick like him?” “Very much. Likes him, respects him, and is just a little bit afraid of him.” “Really.” Leonora sat up straight. “What kind of man frightens Merrick?” “A just one, of course.
But I don’t think I could explain to—my just man—that I’d set up a murder, Leo. I don’t think I’d want to try.” “Is it murder to kill a blackmailer?” “Maybe not,” Crane said. “Not if you’re desperate. I’m not desperate yet.”
“I’ll fuck my hand if you fuck my mouth.” Crane’s balls tightened almost painfully at that: dirty talk for Stephen was a matter of desperation, of the best possible kind. “Witch.” He gripped the little man’s hair more tightly and pulled him forward. “And don’t talk with your mouth full.”
“But abusing one’s powers to cover up one’s crimes of any kind is a different matter. If I came to the attention of the police for, you know, what we do—well, I’ve always intended to deal with that situation by, er...” He waved the fork vaguely. “Abusing your powers?” “In a controlled way.” “Naturally,”
At those times Stephen had a craving for rough treatment that Crane found slightly alarming, mostly because he was so much larger and stronger that he feared causing real hurt, and just a little because he was manhandling someone who could kill with a thought.
“For God’s sake. If word got round about what happens when we go to bed, there’d be a queue all down the street for your services. You’d have half the Council ready to bend over for you.” “How good-looking are your Council?” “Not.” “Damn.”
Do I need to dress up like a shop dummy for this club?” “Not by normal human standards. Which is to say, yes, my sweet, you do.
He looked, Crane thought, delightful: well dressed, bright-eyed and freshly fucked, the latter point hopefully lost on the men gathered around the table with them.
“Earl Crane. Shouldn’t there be an ‘of’ in that?” “No. It’s like Earl Grey.” “The tea?” “The lord.” “Ah. Do you suppose Earl Grey has many friends in Wapping?” “I’ve no idea. I’ve never met the man.”
Most of my acquaintances in this country are either Chinese or old China hands. People very like Rackham.” “But not dead, I hope.” “No, most of them aren’t dead at all.”
“Yes. He followed me down to the conveniences and told me some rather bad things about you.” “Did he. What sort of things?” “Apparently, you like to bed men. I was shocked by that, I can tell you.” Crane grinned. “My secret is out. What else?”
“Stephen Day, you’re a blithering idiot.” “I know.” “Good,” Esther said. “And now that’s all sorted out, we have work to do.”
“Oh God, Lucien. God. I was so frightened.” “I know. You looked a great deal less scared when we were about to be murdered by warlocks.” “That was only death. This was Esther.”
“You know, Gold’s right. You’re a fool, and I’m another. Between us, we’d barely make a village idiot. God damn the man,”
“I will talk to you later.” “What does that mean?” said Stephen warily. “Shout at. Fuck. Adore. Come here.”
What the devil is that?” “Tattoos.” Crane finished stripping off his stained shirt as the doctor stared in astonishment at his decorated, animated skin. “I had them done in China.” “They’re moving!” “They do,” Stephen said. “Don’t ask.”
“This is typical of you, Steph,” said Dr. Gold bitterly. “Typical. Of course you can’t just be unnatural like everyone else. Go on, get this overgrown magic lantern out of my way, this is a surgery, not a circus. Out!”
“Blame Leo. She bled all over me.” “That’s the Hawkes and Cheney suit!” said Merrick, outraged. “I’ll never get that stain out.” “I’ll bleed more carefully next time,” Leonora assured him.
“Nobody ain’t going to lay a finger on you, missus,” said Merrick. “Not while me and my lord are standing. You tell Mr. Day about it and don’t worry no more.” “Since when did you talk to the law?” demanded Leonora in Shanghainese. “Since his nobility’s been fucking it,” Merrick returned. “You want the shortarse on your side.”
“That’s him, the little one? Yours?” Leo asked. “Yes.” I hope. “Not your usual type,” she observed. “His usual type is dangerous buggers,” Merrick said. “And there’s no change there. Do not piss Mr. Day about.”
“You do love to put me on my knees, don’t you?” “I like to make you know your master,” Crane said. “It’s only fair. The rest of the time, you’ve got me so thoroughly enslaved, I might as well be wearing a collar with your name on it.”
“Look. I am quite sure I’ve told you how remarkable you are. I know I have. Magical, and infinitely fuckable, and extraordinarily brave. I’m also well aware that you’re a better man than I will ever be. I’m fairly sure you have no idea just how glorious you are, which is fortunate for me, because the more time I have with you, the more aware I am of my own very obvious flaws. And I realise you don’t entirely trust me—no, let me say this,” he insisted as Stephen tried to interrupt. “I realise that and I don’t blame you, but I want—I would like—you to give me a chance to demonstrate that you
...more
She was quite wonderful, and afterwards Tom was silent for what felt like hours, and then he said to me, ‘My life changed tonight.’ Well, he had more sense than me, or saw things more clearly. My life changed four months ago, and I utterly failed to understand that until just recently, and therefore...I may have omitted to tell you that I love you.” He took a breath. “That’s all.”
“Oh God,” he said at last. “I’m pathetic. You know perfectly well that I’m all yours, Lucien, or you should. I’ve got your tattoo, for heaven’s sake. I’m marked for life. And I’m scared by that, I’m terrified.
You’re an extremely attractive and eligible man, and I’m not. And I seem to do nothing but take from you—” “No, I can’t let that pass, that is objectively horseshit. For heaven’s sake, man, I can barely give you the time of day without a fight. Merrick says you’re held together by spit and pride.”
“In any case, that’s not the point. I’m not sure what the point was. Oh, hellfire. I love you, Lucien. It wouldn’t be so nerve-wracking if I didn’t.”
“When this is over, could we go away? Your shooting place again?” “As soon as you like. How long can you take?” “How long do you want?” “The rest of your life.” Crane watched Stephen’s eyes widen. “For now, how about a fortnight?” “Done,” Stephen said. “And...done.”
“God, sweet boy. I love you. I think I need to say that quite a lot.” “Any time.” Stephen’s voice was a little shaky, his eyes bright.
He didn’t have to watch that look of pain and loneliness come back to Stephen’s eyes. He could take away the money worries, the fear of arrest, the quiet, constant fretting about a lonely future. He could treat Stephen as he deserved, and what was for certain, he would find a way to make sure the little sod was curled up in his bed every night, returning home to him, instead of vanishing wordlessly off to unexplained dangers. My little witch. Mine.
The heat thundered on the back of Crane’s neck and beat down on his light grey suit, rapidly getting sweat-soaked. Merrick would murder him. Stephen had told him, long ago, “no Savile Row” when they faced running for their lives; as his expensive shoes slithered on the paving stones, he recalled the truth of that.
“I thought we agreed you weren’t going to be horribly killed. I’m sure you said that.” “I said I wasn’t going to be horribly killed by rats. I never promised not to have my soul eaten by a demented ghost.”
There was, suddenly, a pressure against his fingers. It was like a hand, but with none of Stephen’s electric touch, and neither warm nor cold. He glanced down, startled, and saw nothing. Stephen’s hands were demurely folded on his lap. “Is that you?” “It is.” The invisible clasp firmed, stroking his skin. “That’s giving me ideas.” Stephen’s eyes widened. “Not in a church, Lucien.” “I’ll have ideas anywhere I damned well please.”
