indeed,” confirmed somebody else altogether. “But we’ve done a lot in that time, haven’t we?” There was the sound of papers ruffling loudly, followed by nervous laughter from the others.
“We could get arrested for this—or get much worse for our troubles.”
The first young man scoffed. “Only if we are caught.”
“As assuredly as we will be,” said another, more sobering, “if we mean to go on like this.”
“But we all agreed this has to be done,” the voice of Madine protested. “We all of us shook on it.”
There were murmurs of assent all around her.
“So we keep going then. Get on with our work.”
“It is all well enough for you to say,” said the same voice which had countered her opinion before, “You with your gold pen sticking out of your pocket, and the patch of Faulkien on your shoulder. You would get years rounded down to months by the courtesy of your father, the country squire, and your mother, whose brother is a prince in his own right as a secretary and a junior member in Hungry Hungry Hungary’s cabinet. It would be the gallows and the headsmen for the rest of us, if not worse.”
Naturally Madine had every reason to get cross at these remarks, and cross her words became warm.
“I am no different. I have laid my life down as readily as any of you. Given in the service of this great nation, which cannot be left to suffer in the hands of imbeciles any longer, is a charge worth any injury we might be called upon to suffer! Whether or not we are successful we have all of us agreed it was worth the effort—and dangers, no less—to rescue her from the clutches of coming doom. Indeed, have I not also laid down the lives of my father, mother, and uncle by associating myself with you against their wishes? I was not the originator of this little clubhouse, if you will remember. But after its elders abandoned the cause it can be said that I sought to inherit what was left out of love for the work we are trying to accomplish. It is a line as precarious as any tightrope we walk, which may turn into a noose at the slightest mistake no matter the perceived background of those who seek to brave its dangers. Would you accuse me still, even when there is everything in the world for me to lose also should we measure up short?”
So impassioned was her speech, and her every word ringing with conviction and sincerity that the others were shamed into sullen silence. It was broken by a nervous female voice Bailey had never heard before now.
“So what are we to do then, if indeed we are being investigated? What are we to do if that detective—and make no mistakes about it, for the Handymen are, at heart, detectives of the worst sort—comes looking around?”
These words underwent a profound transformation as they left her lips until by the end they were quite broken up with sobs. Another voice nearby murmured encouragement, offering comforts.
“We should stop the presses, all the same, just to be on the safe side of things.”
“Or destroy them altogether, and wash our hands of the whole thing.”
“We cannot,” replied the young man who has firmly placed himself in Madine’s corner. “We mustn’t.”
“Then at least take off that cursed owl header we use on every page. It serves no purpose but to get us into more trouble, it seems.”
So it would have become another argument if not for Madine’s voice once again rising above the rest. She is evidently a ringleader of sorts for this gang, and it was on her opinions that the others were quelled into compliance.
“The thing is on my head,” she said, “And rightly so, for it was I who approached the fellow at Mr. Rivers’ parlor. I earned the attention of an agent in service to the powers that be. I made an appointment with this same foe of nebulous intentions, which I now intend to keep. You must understand that I had to know, likely as not, in what direction his investigation lies, or will soon be taking him. I don’t believe for a second he is after the Lynchman’s Owl—the man, the fiend, or the legend. If twenty years ago the matter was quickly hushed up, what would lead to an interest in digging up the same grave again long after it has been buried? And we all know better, don’t we? Owls are a dozen to a dime in the south, for whatever purpose. We are ourselves guilty of borrowing that moniker. And if indeed we are going to become the target of his attentions for it then better that we can head off the matter before it gets out of hand.”
“And just how do you intend to do that?” she was asked by her peers.
“Well I am meeting with him tonight, as you know. I hope I can convince him to look the other way.”
“When?”
“At midnight.”
“Where?”
She gave them the address.
“It’s dangerous,” said the one worried voice which seemed intent on throwing caution on the matter at every turn, “to go alone.”
“She won’t be alone,” replied the boisterous young man. “If indeed he’s onto us, I shall give this fellow something to regret it.” His exclamation was followed by the noise of something being placed onto a table with a heavy thud. At once the others became silent, save for a short gasp of fright which escaped a pair of lips here and there.
“Take this with you.”
“Put that away!” Madine cried in horror. The others swiftly agreed.
“Leave him alone. We aren’t murderers.”
The young man seemed as equally offended by their reluctance to make use of the tool he provided as he was by their apparent impression that he would stoop to such.
“It is not what you think,” he protested. “And I am no murderer. I was just going to convince him to get on his way and leaves us alone.”
“So was I!” cried Madine. “Take it away. We don’t need that!”
“Maddy, if it’s scaring him off you want, there is no better way.”
The others persisted, seeming bothered by his indifference to their concerns. “Get rid of it,” they told him in no uncertain terms. “Even without a Handyman around it’s an invitation to disaster.”
There was the faint shuffling of footsteps followed by Madine’s voice, gentler now, soothing her wounded friend. “I only asked him there to find out more if I can. I will not resort to violence unless I am threatened. Even then I can just take off and run.”
He scoffed, “But how far would you get, really?”
It seemed by the final swell of voices pushing for attention that there were still much to be discussed on the matter, but Bailey had by then removed his listening device from the flooring with a shake of his head and a long, weary sigh. He had heard all he needed to, and little help was it to him in the end. The affairs of these young people no longer held any interest for him, and he would leave them to their debate. Likely as not it would lead to a bad end, for these young men and women went on sneering at the notion that there was any real risk, that they hadn’t been caught, nor will they, to hear them go on about it still, when there were nearly a dozen friends—fellow owls, they were called—who could be depended upon to whisk them away into safety at a moment’s notice. They were only children in Bailey’s eyes, heading blindfolded into trouble with a stolen name. But they very clearly had nothing he needed, and he would do what they so plainly wanted of him by quietly going away. Of course, he could have given them over to a firing squad with a word, but he did not have the heart to derail their crusade—or more to the heart of the matter, to bring harm down upon Madine, whose misplaced bravery had so impressed him. What a woman that was! What a marvelous creature of iron-resolve he had witnessed firsthand! An unexpected raven-haired beauty with wits to match, and courage to spare; he would not, for the life of him, lay a finger on the soul of such inspiration, such hope, for the sake of his own ambitions. It was to him too cruel a thing to consider.
Thus the landlord learned nothing and the patrolman outside even less, even as they were properly dismissed from his service. Pattering down the rain sodden street he walked alone in the direction of the alehouse. Very soon he found himself
back inside his chamber atop the parlor, looking idly out of the tall windows to count the raindrops falling in rivulets from the eaves of the building roof. Perking his ears every now and then he caught the far off booms of ships’ horns casting off from the harbor, holding a single droning note. A good supper awaited him upon his return, but he remained alone quite up until the very late hours, when the moon in a clear night became half obscured by a man-made cloud. An airship covered the sky whirring past with its searchlights panning slowly beneath back and forth, washing the muted walls of the neighborhood buildings in a hazy white glow. At that moment there came a rap on his chamber door, timid as if to suggest the caller could not decide if he dared to rouse the resident of the apartment, but insistent as well to speak of his business as a matter which could not wait.
“Come in,” said Bailey.
The man who entered was none other than the proprietor of the parlor, and also owner and landlord of these apartments of which Bailey was a temporary tenant. A short fellow, and meek by nature as we have observed before, sporting a large, pointed nose which he was accustomed to keeping out of the affairs of others. But above it sat a pair of alert, wary eyes, behind which one could only anticipate the shrewd mind of a character of acumen. He was something of a neighborhood benefactor, always generous with his pennies and services, subscribing to that