Infernal Devices - KW Jeter [53]
The distant torches waved higher; I could hear some sort of chant beginning. "I've got to flee from here–"
Scape's arms spread wide. "Hey – that's what I was just saying, man. A country vacation; what could be nicer than that? Especially when you got a whole bunch of people who want to kick your ass right outside your front door. You can just cool out at Bendray's place, you know, wait for things to die down back here… this bunch'll forget about you after a while. And if you and Bendray find something, um… interesting to talk about while you're there – hey, that's a bonus." His smile returned as he stroked the point of his chin with one long finger. "So what do you say? Hm?"
The formidable Mrs Trabble, having been the latest terror to appear in my life, perhaps outweighed all other considerations. My resolutions regarding Scape and Bendray, and the entire insane carnival they represented, were washed away in the sudden flood of panic engendered by the sight of the mob being whipped up outside. I turned and shouted towards the rear of the shop: "Creff! Quickly – my trunk…"
"Screw your luggage, man." Scape shook his head in disgust as he addressed his companion. "Can you believe this turkey's just about to get stomped into the pavement, and he's worried about having enough clean socks."
"Pardon, sir… I took the liberty…" A travelling case, with the sleeves of several of my shirts dangling from under its lid, came bumping down the stairs after Creff. Evidently, his encounter with Mrs Trabble had likewise impressed him, and spurred him to appropriate action. I saw that he had put on his much-patched coat, his cap crammed into its pocket.
"Of course, my assistant comes with us," I said to Scape. "We couldn't leave him here – to their mercies–"
"Yeah, yeah, sure." Scape was growing visibly agitated, perhaps by the increasingly louder shouts of the mob. "Bendray's rich, he's got a big place, no problem. Just come on, will ya?"
"And Abel!" cried Creff. "Him too!"
"Who?" This sudden interjection baffled me.
"Abel, sir! The dog! Who'll look after him?"
I looked down at my feet and saw the liquid, trusting eyes of the animal that had once been the wretched Fexton's, and was now apparently mine. It gazed up at me, waiting patiently for its fate to be pronounced. The realisation struck me – of course! – that Creff had taken my introductory explanation of the dog's nature – a bell-dog – as its name: Abel Dog. As good as any, I supposed.
"For Christ's sake!" shouted Scape. "Are you going to just stand there, looking at that stupid mutt? Bring the friggin' dog along – what do I care? But let's get this show on the road, okay?"
Miss McThane gave me a forceful shove in the small of my back. "Out the other way – the carriage is in the alley. Move it, move it."
"One more thing–" Scape grabbed my arm. "You got something ol' Bendray's real interested in. And we know it's here. Get it," he ordered. "Quick."
The commotion from the crowd had grown both louder and higher-pitched. I shook off the befuddlement with which the rapid course of events had seized my thoughts. The device that the Brown Leather Man had lodged with me – that was the item of which he spoke; no doubt it had been Lord Bendray who had commissioned their unsuccessful attempt to steal it from these premises. So he desired it still and the promise of sanctuary was dependent upon my furnishing it to him. Without hesitation, I ran down the hallway to the workroom and came staggering back with the weighty mahogany cabinet in my arms.
In a matter of moments, my trunk was lodged on top of the carriage with Creff and the driver – one of Bendray's men, I assumed – and the balance of the party was safely installed inside. My father's creation, the source of so much skulduggery, lay on the carriage's floor between us.
Abel, as he was newly christened, scrambled up into my lap