Arcane Entanglement (The Mage and His Brute #1)

Chapter 12

The night mist rising from the narrow, wet streets Evander and Ginny treaded carried the unpleasant smell of stagnant water from the nearby river and the acrid stink of chemical and dye runoffs from the numerous factories and workshops lining the embankment.

Ginny cast a tense look at him from under her hood.

“There is no guarantee he will agree to meet you,” she said for the umpteenth time.

“I know. But this is the only way I’m going to get that Brute to talk.”

She furrowed her brow and accelerated her pace. Mud churned under Evander’s feet as he kept up with her.

They were in an area of Stepney sandwiched between Limehouse and London Docks. Though nowhere near as squalid as the East End, it was still a deprived district, the roads and buildings a sharp contrast to the elegant squares and fashionable streets frequented by the wealthy, magical elite a mere handful of miles away.

Evander glanced at the shadowy figures lurking in the side alleys they passed.

Who knew Nightshade was located here.

The man they were going to see was a mysterious figure linked to an elusive guild of which even less was known. Though many suspected Nightshade to be involved in illegal activities, no one had been able to provide evidence to support the rumours, hence why it had avoided raids by the Met. Said to be frequented by crime lords and royalty alike, the guild quickly gained a reputation as London’s most notorious information network after first appearing on the scene some fifteen years ago.

Just as infamous was the man behind the organisation. Viggo Stonewall, AKA the Ironfist Brute. Rumoured to be one of the strongest of his kind in all of Europe, he was said to have once stopped a train with his bare hands.

Evander couldn’t help but feel a deep spark of interest concerning Stonewall. The man was revered as a legend by thralls all over England. Having never had reason to cross his path in his role as a Special Arcane Investigator, he was curious to finally be meeting him.

Of course, he hadn’t told Ginny any of this when he’d visited her townhouse that afternoon. If anyone in his circle knew how to get in touch with Nightshade and its enigmatic owner, he’d been certain it would be her.

“How is it you know the man again?” Evander enquired as they navigated a labyrinth of filthy alleys, the hems of their cloaks brushing their cheap boots.

Ginny hesitated. “I don’t know him personally. He wasn’t present on the occasions I availed myself of the services of his organisation.” She met his wary stare and sighed. “I needed to investigate some potential business partners. Nightshade is quicker and more efficient than any other information guild out there.”

Fifteen minutes after being dropped off at the junction of Commercial Road and Cannon Street by a hansom cab, they reached a building bearing a neat sign that said Ironclad Shipping above its front door.

It was identical to any of the dozens of merchant companies in the area.

Ginny ducked into a side alley that led to the back. She ignored the rear exit and headed for a nondescript door tucked at the corner of the establishment. A flame sizzled inside the oil lantern next to it.

The feeble glow washed across a metal symbol in the shape of a small purple flower nailed above the lintel.

Evander’s scalp prickled as he stared at it, Ophelia Miller’s warning ringing in his ears.

Ginny glanced at him. “That’s why I agreed to bring you here without making a fuss.” She frowned. “It crossed my mind that the purple flower Miss Miller alluded to was Nightshade , but it wasn’t until you mentioned wanting to see Viggo Stonewall that I became certain of the connection.”

She walked up to the door and knocked on a small window at eye level. It slid open immediately. A baleful gaze swept them from head to toe from behind a row of metal bars.

“What do you want?” the figure asked in a hostile tone.

“ Solana ,” Ginny said, unfazed.

The figure narrowed his eyes. The window banged closed.

“He’s pleasant,” Evander observed.

“Best get used to it,” Ginny said in a thin voice. “This isn’t going to be like your gentleman’s club in Pall Mall.”

There was the sound of multiple bolts sliding.

“Is Solana a code?” Evander asked curiously.

“Yes. I am told it comes from Solanaceae , the plant family the nightshade flower belongs to.”

Evander raised an eyebrow. It seemed whoever came up with the password was well versed in botany.

The door opened, revealing a gloomy stone passage lined with wooden trunks and crates stacked haphazardly atop one another. A heavy, wrought-iron door was visible at the opposite end. It was being guarded by a shadowy figure.

They were about to start down the corridor when the portly doorman with the ruddy face and gimlet eyes who’d let them inside the building stepped in their path.

“You forgot the entrance fee,” he said gruffly.

Ginny sighed, fished inside the pocket of her dress, and dropped a shilling in his hand.

The man didn’t budge. “Fee’s gone up, love.” He flashed tobacco-stained teeth at them.

Ginny wrinkled her forehead. “Since when?”

“Since I said so.” The man leered and reached for her. “You’re a pretty little thing. I can forego your entrance fees if you let me kiss?—”

The rest of his words disappeared on a high-pitched wheeze.

Evander winced.

Ginny had twisted the doorman’s wrist and grabbed him by the balls.

“Would you care to complete that sentence?!” she hissed in his face.

The man shook his head jerkily, legs crossed and tears pooling in his eyes.

“Good.” She released him and started down the passage.

The doorman gasped and crouched, hands covering his privates. An incoherent sound of protest left him when Ginny retraced her steps and swiped her shilling back.

“That’s for being a prick,” she said coldly.

“Wait,” the doorman protested. “I need to pat you down for weapons.”

Ginny arched an arrogant eyebrow.

The doorman sagged. “Just tell them I did so if they ask, will ya?”

The man guarding the next door knew better than to challenge her. His gaze moved curiously over Evander as they passed him, no doubt wondering what their relationship was.

Considering the outfits he and Ginny were wearing, it would be difficult for anyone to guess they were nobles.

“Henry will be proud,” Evander drawled as they negotiated the passage beyond the second door. “You’ll have to report that you turned yet another man’s genitals black and blue and not in a nice way.”

Ginny rolled her eyes.

Henry “Jab” Flintlock was a retired Navy man who owned a training club in the East End. There, he taught anyone willing to learn the fighting skills he’d picked up from his time in the military and the years he’d spent traveling through the Far East studying under various masters of Kung Fu, Karate, and Jujutsu. It was Hargrove who’d introduced Evander, Ginny, and Rufus to Flintlock after Ginny had requested an instructor to teach her the art of street fighting. Being a high-end courtesan came with its own risks and she’d been determined to be ready for any situation she encountered.

Though Evander and Rufus had initially tagged along to make sure she was safe, they’d soon found themselves swept up by the atmosphere of sweat, determination, and camaraderie that characterised Henry’s club and soon became his students. There were no ranks or titles on the training floor. No differentiation between magic users and thralls, between nobles and slum dwellers. Everyone was equal in Henry’s club and he treated them as such.

The corridor branched off after some twenty feet. Ginny turned left, crossed two doors, and stopped in front of an opening leading to a stone staircase.

The steps spiralled beneath the building. She started down them.

Evander followed.

A low murmur of voices reached him when they arrived at the first landing. He frowned when they got to the third landing with no visible end in sight.

“How far does this go?”

“This place was built over a network of limestone caves,” Ginny said guardedly. “It’s deep.”

The noise swelled to a brouhaha that soon filled Evander’s ears, the raucous sound of chanting and whooping making the air buzz with an energy that made his skin tingle.

His breath caught when they emerged on a mezzanine overlooking a giant space that could easily accommodate two ballrooms.

A labyrinth of chambers, galleries, and passages opened off both levels, offering glimpses into the world of the information guild. He spotted a dining hall, a library, and numerous offices with walls lined with cabinets and nebulous figures crouched over tables strewn with paperwork even at this late hour, their faces etched with eldritch shadows by the light of oil lanterns.

Evander perused the fat candles crowding the chandeliers dotting the ceiling and wall lights gracing the exposed limestone, before focusing on the expansive floor below.

Most of it was taken up by chairs and tables where guild members could sit and talk, as well as some card and billiard tables where they could try their hand at a game of chance and skill. Fireplaces and pits were arranged around the vast chamber, their flames keeping away the chill while the smoke they produced filtered through vents in the ceiling.

His gaze landed on an arena at the far end, where the noise was coming from. It resembled a Roman colosseum, with giant stone pillars demarcating the corners of the sunken floor. A crowd was gathered around it.

Evander frowned. “Is this a fight club?”

“No,” Ginny said. “It’s more a training ground for thralls.”

Evander was aware of dozens of piercing stares as he and Ginny descended the steps leading to the lower floor.

They made their way towards the source of tonight’s attraction and stopped on the edge of the mass of men and women cheering for the two giants fighting in the middle of the colosseum.

“That must be Stonewall,” Ginny murmured.

Evander’s stomach tightened on a flutter of awareness.