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“It does.”
“Which floor is the boy housed on?”
“The first.”
“The floor with the smallest cells.”
“Yes.”
The woman paused a moment, evidently collecting her thoughts. “I had hoped to give you at least a few days to consider my request. But this development requires more urgency. Have you access to keys?”
“For the Octagon, yes. I could perhaps get my hands on a master key for the workhouse—temporarily. Obtaining any keys for the penitentiary would be impossible—for me, at least.”
She nodded. “Very well. We will meet again tomorrow night in your chambers. To discuss the specific plan.”
Moseley’s jaw worked silently for a moment. “I can’t be found with a workhouse key on my person when you put your plan in motion. They’ll search me.”
“Can you arrange to bring the master key to our meeting tomorrow night?”
Moseley nodded.
“We’ll take an impression of it and you can return it, the following evening, before the escape takes place. It will appear as if no ordinary keys were used in this…liberation. So, then: Tomorrow night? Midnight?”
“Tomorrow night,” Moseley heard himself say. “Yes. Yes.”
“The coin is yours to keep, whatever your decision, but I feel certain youwillmake the only humane choice and provide us your assistance…and that wewillproceed at tomorrow’s meeting to finalize plans for freeing the youth on the next evening—before he can be moved. Will that work, Mr. Moseley?”
Reassured by the solidity of the gold coin, and intimidated by the presence of the Irishman, Moseley nodded. “If you do your part with success, it will work.”
“Then I ask only one other favor.”
“Yes?”
“It’s my understanding you have a weakness forzhui lóng—chasing the dragon. Will you pledge to stay away from laudanum until we complete our rescue?”
Moseley looked from this strange woman to her companion and back again. They’d given him half a year’s pay, free and clear—just like that, with much more to come.
He nodded.
“Most excellent. Until tomorrow, then.” Another tip of the cap, then Moseley’s new acquaintances exited the booth, ascended the stairs, and vanished into the night—leaving behind only two empty pint glasses as proof the last twenty minutes had not been a figment of his imagination.
9
Sunday, May 21
Present Day
SPECIAL AGENT ARMSTRONG COLDMOONwalked down the second-floor hallway of what had been, until ten days ago, the Chandler House. Now it was more a construction project than a building. The damaged structure was surrounded by cranes, metal scaffolding, and bracing to stabilize it while the upper two stories were being rebuilt behind screens. Even as he walked, Coldmoon could hear the faint snap of nail guns, feel the vibrations as pieces of roofing were dropped into place. The whole city was being repaired, 24/7.
The hallway was dimly lit and empty. Besides a skeleton staff camped out in the employees’ quarters in a far corner of the first floor, the entire hotel was deserted. Save, that is, for one most unusual lodger—Special Agent Pendergast—who had essentially refused to leave.
Coldmoon hadn’t known Pendergast all that long—Christ, was it really just three months since he’d first met the man?—but over the trio of cases they’d worked since, he felt he’d come to understand this enigmatic, intensely private person better than most did. He was aware the man had suffered a deeply emotional trauma when his young companion, Constance, had abandoned him and used the machine to launch herself back in time.Companiondidn’t quite describe their connection; in point of fact, Coldmoon had no idea what their true relationship was.Wardwas obviously a title of convenience. There was more between them than some quaint legal formality. Coldmoon had read the goodbye note she’d left, and while he found it more confusing than informative, it suggested why Pendergast would feel devastated.
Directly ahead of him now, a chair had been placed against one wall of the corridor: a wooden ladder-back Shaker chair with a seat of woven jute. Coldmoon could attest to its lack of comfort: he had spent time in it every afternoon now for the past five days.
Reaching the chair, he picked it up, placed it in front of the nearby door marked222, then took a seat with something closer to a groan than a sigh. He cleared his throat.
“Hey, Pendergast,” he said. “Aloysius. It’s Coldmoon. Again.”