Snowdrop Page 8

  “Alright,” Robin said, earning a stunned smile from the older man. “I’ve actually always been quite interested in your business affairs.”

  “Truly?”

  Robin nodded. “I’m very keen on books. I would love to see how they’re made.”

  “Well, I’m on my way to the factory now! Would you like me to give you a tour?”

  “That would be wonderful,” Robin said. He took the elbow Lambert offered and followed him to his fancy steam carriage. A driver in leather gloves and thick goggles opened the door and unfolded a set of metal steps for them. They rode up the dirt road to the gray block buildings Lambert owned. Looking out the window as they pulled up at the entrance, Robin saw the foreboding structure that he knew held the faeries just across the way. As usual, armed men watched its heavy, steel double doors.

  For the next two hours, Robin feigned interest as Lambert showed him huge copper vats where mechanized paddles stirred pulp, blades that cut sheaves of paper, and rows of huge presses that stamped words onto them afterward. He saw men operating machines that bound the finished books. Dozens of people worked to keep the boilers and steam generators going, or to operate the devices that brought wood chips to finished manuscripts. Finally he viewed the assembly lines where the completed products were dropped into boxes and sealed. Workers loaded them onto pallets and drove them outside on an automated lift. Robin had heard horror stories about the conditions in the Halcyon factories to the south, and while this one was dark, dusty, and filled with industrial fumes, it didn’t seem quite as bad as the reports he’d read about the manufacturing plants in the capital city. Still, he wouldn’t want to earn his keep by spending his days within the gloomy walls.

  Finally the tour concluded, and Robin and Lambert emerged into the fresh, summer air. Robin made conversation with the factory owner about what he’d seen. As soon as he got the chance, he asked, “And what about that building across the street? Is that one of yours too?”

  “I’m an investor in that property, but the actual owner is a gentleman named Maxwell Bunge. You’ll get to meet him tonight at dinner.”

  Balling his fists inside his pockets, Robin innocently asked, “What do they make there?”

  “I’m not exactly sure,” Lambert admitted. “I’ve been told that they conduct very important research concerning our national security. I suspect they’re developing weapons of some kind.”

  “You put up money for it without even knowing what they’re doing in there?” Robin asked, irritated and unable to completely hide it. He took a breath. His best chance at getting inside that building remained securing Lambert’s cooperation. He had to be nice to him. The way the older man fawned over him, Robin suspected Lambert would do anything to please him. “I’d love to see inside,” he said quietly, leaning close to the older man’s ear, letting the tip of his nose brush Lambert’s cheek.

  “Impossible, I’m afraid,” he said, flushing slightly. “The facility is heavily guarded. National security, as I said.”

  Robin gave him a pouty expression. “Wouldn’t it be exciting if we snuck in?” He took the other man’s hand. “Titus, wouldn’t it be thrilling?”

  A film of sweat covered Lambert’s hand. He held Robin’s fingers and said, “Perhaps, but it would be quite impossible.”

  “Why? You own a share of that business. The guards would let you through. We could tell them I’m your partner.” He chose the last word carefully and gave it a special emphasis. “Or an assistant.”

  “We’d have to get the key and pass codes from Mr. Bunge. Everything inside is locked down tight.”

  “Maybe tonight at dinner,” Robin suggested. “Tell him that if he wants your money, then you want to be allowed inside. He must trust you as a business partner.”

  “I don’t know if that man trusts his own mother. But this seems important to you, Robin, so I’ll try.”

  “Brilliant!” He gave Titus Lambert a hard peck on the cheek.

  Eyes wide, Titus touched the place where Robin’s lips had been. “I say, do you have a formal suit? Black tie?”

  “No, sorry.”

  Titus took a business card from his coat and handed it to Robin. “I have a line of credit at this tailor. Get something that you like and put it on my bill.”

  “I don’t know about this, Titus.”

  “Robin, please. I’m not going to expect anything in return. I’ve never wanted you to feel like that. I just want you to have a nice suit.”

  “Alright, then.”

  “Excellent. I’ll have my driver take you to the train station and buy you a ticket. We’ll meet around eight?”

  “Eight,” Robin agreed. “And Titus, thank you.” He kissed him on the cheek again and skipped hopefully to the carriage.

  ROBIN stood in front of a full-length mirror as two tiny bald men, identical twins, finished the final adjustments to his clothing. He felt like he looked at a stranger as he regarded his image in the fine black suit and crisp white shirt. It fit him perfectly, accentuating his lean frame and long limbs, cinching at just the right point on his waist. His dark red hair, curlier than usual due to the moisture of an impending storm, fell over the padded shoulders. The silk-lined coat’s tails hung to the knees of the subtly striped trousers. He’d chosen a gold satin waistcoat and tie that made his unique eyes stand out even more. A fine gentleman, maybe even an aristocrat, looked back at Robin from the glass. Finally the two old tailors placed a top hat on Robin’s head and judged him perfect enough to be off.

  The eyes of men and women alike followed Robin as he walked up the street past the other expensive shops in search of a hansom. He felt good as he strolled beneath the gaslight. He actually looked forward to the evening. Maybe he’d even spend the night with Titus Lambert. He’d proven more honorable than Robin had originally assumed, and he was as smitten with the young thief as Robin had ever seen anyone. Likely he’d show Robin a good time. After his nights with Snowdrop, Robin thought he might enjoy an older man to take charge.

  Robin had just raised his hand to hale a carriage when the music and voices of the street grew torpid and warped, as if an old phonograph played a distorted record. The pedestrians and cars moved as if through molasses. Everything wavered, like Robin watched it through old glass. “Oh no,” Robin breathed. “Not now.” Snowflakes blew horizontally into Robin’s face, though he still felt the heat of the night on his skin. In fact, it felt much warmer than it had. Robin shut his eyes against the storm, and when he opened them again he stood on a rocky crag overlooking an impossibly dark-blue sea. The moisture he’d felt hadn’t been snow, but the spray of the waves. Night had fallen fast; the moon rode high in the deep cobalt sky. A little way down the rocky coast, Robin saw the remains of an ancient white temple with high columns, a domed roof, and the chipped and weathered likenesses of beautiful men and women. Beyond it, a small village of blue and white homes stretched steeply from the shore to the hills.

  Snowdrop stood a few feet away with a dark-haired man. The stranger looked about with confusion, and then demanded something from the faerie in a foreign tongue. He had a thick, black beard and a well-muscled, though lean and graceful, frame.

  “You have to put me back,” Robin said, hurrying over to Snow and the foreigner, whose protests grew louder and more frantic. “I don’t have time for this right now.”

  Snow said a few words to the man in his language, calming him slightly. To Robin he said, “Don’t you look delicious?” He smoothed Robin’s lapel. “I got something for you. A gift.”

  “What is it?”

  “Your father.”

  Robin looked at the man again, recognizing his olive skin, high cheeks, and full lips. Snow spoke to him, presumably explaining the situation. He presented Robin, and a knowing look appeared on the sailor’s face.

  Snow, translating, said, “My son?”

  “That’s right,” Robin said.

  “You can ask him your questions now,” Snow said.

  The strang
e situation made Robin forget all about his dinner with Titus. “Father,” he said slowly, giving Snow time to relay his words to the man.

  “He wonders how your mother is,” Snow said.

  “Dead. You told her you were coming back. She never stopped waiting for you.”

  “He asks how it happened.”

  “We had nothing. Her family turned her out when she couldn’t hide her pregnancy. She made money the only way a woman can, and eventually caught a disease. She was sick for a long time and then—” Robin turned his head to hide his angry tears. He wanted to strike the sailor, to make him feel the pain he’d caused.

  “Why didn’t you come back?” Robin demanded, yelling out to the sea.

  The man frowned and shook his head. When he finished talking, Snow said, “I was a very young man, not ready for a wife and family. I didn’t want to leave my homeland, my ship. I was a coward, and I can’t ask you to forgive me.”

  Robin tasted bile in his throat, and his hands shook. When his father tried to touch his face, Robin smacked his hand away. He shoved his shoulder making him stumble back a few steps. “Why didn’t you want me?”

  “He says he was just young, and a fool, and that he’s sorry. He says you look well and wonders if you have a nice life.”

  “I guess I have you,” Robin said to Snow. He felt like tattered paper inside, and wanted the faerie to hold him. “No, don’t tell him I said that. Ask him if he wants to know me, to be in my life now.”

  “He regrets that he cannot. He has a wife and children of his own. He says he’s glad to have seen you, though, and that he wishes you the best.”

  “Damn it, Snow, just get him out of my sight. Please, get him away from me.” Robin closed his eyes and pressed his fist against his lips. When he opened them again, only he and Snowdrop stood on the rocks above the sea. Snow caught one of Robin’s tears on his fingertip and held it close to his face, where it sparkled like a jewel.

  Confused, the faerie said, “I don’t understand. I thought you would want this.”

  “Oh, Snow.” Robin fell into his arms and dropped his face against Snow’s shoulder. He breathed in the smell of his hair as he fought to regain his composure. He didn’t know what hurt him more: his father’s betrayal or Snow’s sweet gesture. Why should it hurt for someone to be kind to him? “Take me home,” he whispered into Snowdrop’s ear.

  Within seconds they stood in his room at the Blackthorn, their arms still wound around each other. Robin blinked at the morning light that shined through the curtains. He’d missed his meeting with Titus, missed any chance of getting into the research building. Numb, overwhelmed by all of it, Robin let go of Snowdrop and collapsed on his bed. The faerie helped him out of his fine suit and laid his head against Robin’s heart. Almost on its own, Robin’s hand burrowed into his hair. He seemed so human sometimes. Robin fell quickly to sleep as Snow sang him a soft lullaby.

  He woke later that afternoon to find the faerie naked on top of him. Snow glowed with golden, late-day light as he rode Robin’s cock slowly, working his own erection with his hands. His sweet mouth kissed gently down Robin’s neck and across his brow, making Robin’s skin prickle. Then he sat up and smiled serenely at Robin. In a dream-like state, Robin fondled his nipples and caressed his pale, wispy form. Neither of them spoke as they moved together, and when they’d finished Robin felt exhausted and soon fell unconscious once again.

  He didn’t wake until the following morning, and was disappointed, though not surprised, to find himself alone. He couldn’t remember ever being hungrier, and went instinctively to the fresh plate of lemon bars on the table. As he ate, he thought back on the events of the past day and a half. He couldn’t comprehend Snowdrop. The faerie went out of his way to please Robin, oblivious to the fact that what would please him most would be for Snow to want him, want him all the time. He had to accept that maybe the faerie didn’t, couldn’t, feel the same. Not for the first time he thought it might be less painful to forget Snow all together.

  Worst of all, he’d missed his dinner engagement. Titus would never forgive him. The expensive black suit lay crumpled beside the bed. Robin would need to return it. He owed Titus an apology and some sort of explanation. He needed to find another way inside that building. Even after his long rest, Robin’s mind felt groggy and hazy. Still, he pulled on a pair of trousers and went to get some coffee and a bath. He had to find a way into Maxwell Bunge’s torture house, and now he had to do it on his own.

  Chapter 7

  WHEN Robin saw Titus Lambert sitting at a table in the raucous inn that evening, he considered retreating to his room. He’d planned to get some dinner and a drink, but lost his appetite as he watched the older man from the stairs. Titus sat patiently with his gloved hands folded on the table, trying to remain calm and reserved as the drunken patrons danced, stumbled, wrestled and groped around him. For the sake of pity, Robin breathed deeply and prepared to take his medicine.

  He made his way to the table and cleared his throat, not presuming he’d be invited to sit down. Titus looked up, offered a tired smile, and waved at the chair. Robin took it, bracing himself to be yelled at or at least told off. The other man motioned to the fat waitress, and she set a mug of ale in front of Robin. He downed half of it in a gulp.

  “Hungry?” Titus asked.

  “Titus, let me explain.”

  “I intend to. But first, would you like some dinner?”

  Robin nodded guiltily. This was worse than a tirade; Titus seemed so broken, and his kindness cut deeper than anger. He ordered one of everything on the Blackthorn’s menu. The dishes barely left room for the men to rest their elbows on the table.

  Robin reached reluctantly for a plate and piled it with pickled eggs, crisps, a few thick slices of cheese, some bread and butter, beets and celery. Titus Lambert helped himself to the kidney pie and munched on a pickle. While hungry, Robin wanted to speak to the man, so he hurried to finish his supper. Titus ate like a gentleman, dabbing his mouth with his napkin.

  “Thank you for the meal,” Robin said, grateful but feeling terrible. “Titus, I got lost in the city.”

  “All night then? Couldn’t ask directions of a single person?”

  Robin stared down at the napkin in his lap. “There was a person,” he said. “A very bad person.”

  Titus looked alarmed now. “Did someone hurt you?”

  “No. It was a faerie, Titus.”

  “My God! What happened?”

  “I don’t remember exactly. Everything slowed down, and I heard music. We were standing by the sea. He said strange things that I couldn’t understand, and before I knew it I was back here, and it was morning. I slept for an entire day after that. I feel terrible, Titus. I truly do. I’ll return the suit, have them refund your money—”

  “No, no, Robin. I’m just glad nothing worse happened to you. A faerie that far south, though. That is disturbing.”

  “Well, they’re all over Halcyon.”

  “True,” Titus said. “As for the suit, please just keep it. Mr. Bunge presented all of the investors with a significant share of the research’s profits.”

  “You don’t sound happy about that.”

  The older man shook his head. “I’ve thought a great deal about what you said. By investing money in the project, I’m responsible for what goes on there. I have a right to know what it is and told Mr. Bunge so.”

  “And?”

  “He was evasive. I couldn’t get a straight answer out of him. He grew more and more irritated as I persisted. Some of the other gentleman present became interested as well. I think we made Mr. Bunge rather nervous.”

  “Suspicious,” Robin said.

  “Indeed. I went on to ask about our mysterious benefactors, finally demanding a copy of the records. I wanted to know where the money had come from. It’s curious. The companies buying our research range from industrial manufacturers, to pharmaceuticals corporations, to branches of the government of which I’d never heard. Apparently
before his fatal accident, Grande Chancellor Thimbleroy had been a great supporter of our endeavors.”

  “The Grande Chancellor,” Robin gasped.

  Titus looked grave and said, “These were the records I was permitted to see. Surely there is more. I want to know what, exactly what, my investment is a part of.” He took an elaborate gold key from his coat pocket and laid it on the table next to Robin’s hand.

  “He let you have it?”

  With a mischievous grin, Titus shook his head. “I thought that if you can get away with it every day, I might manage once.”

  “Brilliant!” Robin said, raising his mug. Looking proud, Titus toasted him. “So what will we do now?”

  “We find out what Maxwell Bunge is trying to hide.”

  “Titus, I was wrong about you. I thought you were one of those sorts that thought you could buy anything, even me. But now I know that’s not true. You’re an honest man and very brave.”

  “I hoped you might realize that. Now, let’s not let all of this food go to waste, shall we?” Robin stacked his plate again as Titus called for more ale.

  As they dined, Robin wondered how Titus would react when he saw what the research building held. He could only hope the older man would be horrified. From what he’d seen of Titus lately, Robin felt confident that he would do the right thing. He tried to put it to the back of his mind as he finished his meal.

  After about an hour, the waitress came to clear away the dishes. Titus took a cigarette from his golden case, offered one to Robin, and fired it up for him with a matching lighter.

  “I suppose we should walk up to the factories,” Robin suggested. “Try to stay out of sight.”

  “We must do just the opposite,” Titus said. “We must drive up to the front door and act as though we have every right to be there. We can’t show any nervousness to the guards, or we’ll be suspected.”

  ROBIN tried to take his advice as he walked down the steps from the car, but he felt jittery and nauseous, and wished he hadn’t eaten quite so much. As they approached the two guards at the door, he stayed a few steps behind Titus with his chin raised and his shoulders square. He held the writing tablet, pen, and ink Titus had given him to make him look more official.