Crystal Spyglass: Crown and Country, #3

By MK Mancos

The sound of redemption is a ticking clock.

For three years, Gunjo has sat rotting in an East Angelian prison for stealing the Crystal Spgylass from the Royal Depository. Unable to locate the artifact, Queen Vittoria grants him a conditional release with the mandate--find the Spyglass or join his fellow conspirators on the gallows.

As time runs out, his contacts are dropping dead.

It will take a miracle to clear this case and find the Spyglass before their enemies discover it and covert it to the weapon of mass destruction it was designed to be.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Mystic Kat Press
• Release date: Aug 4, 2018
• ISBN: 9781386967323

Book preview

Chapter 1

East Angelía – Upper Walsingham

Reign of Queen Vittoria -1891

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Keys rattled in the old iron lock, clinking against the bars in a hollow melody. Gunjo lifted his head from his bent knees and stared at the door. Hope had died a lonely death months before. He had no reason to believe anyone came for him now. The only visitors who ever showed were those who slung food through the slot once a day. They were his jailers. Nothing more. No other human contact had been made. He’d become so foul in his existence even the rats left him alone.

The door swung open and a guard entered. Up with you, you lousy shit.

Gunjo pushed to his feet. The food might have been awful and not much of it, but he’d spent his time keeping his mind sharp and body fit. He hadn’t used his voice in so long that his attempt to ask where he was going came out as an unintelligible croak. Better to wait and see rather than embarrass himself. If the Crown had decided to execute him, then so be it. Bribery of officials was beyond his reach.

The guard hit Gunjo on the arm with a truncheon. Hold out your hands.

Gunjo would have complied without the use of force. What was he going to do? The man outweighed him by at least five stone. He might have kept his body fit, but he wasn’t in any shape to take on a grizzly in a guard coat.

Iron manacles were placed around Gunjo’s wrists and ankles then he was led out of the cell by an iron lead attached to the cuffs. The short length of the chain links separating his feet allowed only short steps.

Hurry up, maggot. We don’t have all day. You don’t want to keep the Menagerie waiting. The guard jerked the chain fastened to Gunjo’s wrists.

Menagerie? If they thought he had more information for them, they were mistaken. He’d exhausted his supply upon his incarceration. He had nothing more to give. Not to the authorities. Not to himself. He was a spent force, much the way an angry storm finally blew itself out, downgraded to a gentle rain. Prison had broken him in more ways than one.

Gunjo was marched to the door of the prison and a dark hood shoved over his face. He thrashed, trying to knock the cover loose. Each breath sucked the fabric to his nose and mouth, choking him. Precious oxygen robbed from his lungs.

Stop it, you crazy arsehole.

Can’t breathe, Gunjo wheezed out.

Shut up. Nobody cares.

The guard pushed Gunjo into a wall. Brutal strikes from the truncheon landed on his back and shoulders. He lifted his cuffed hands to block the blows, but the guard had moved, landing one on the back of Gunjo’s head.

Blackness sucked him down.

∞

Light started as a pinprick behind his eyes. Pain exploded and he reflexively shut his eyelids. A raspy groan rumbled in his throat. Gods, he felt like all the hells combined.

Mr. Gunjo?

He recognized that voice, but hadn’t heard it in nearly three years. The pain in his head caused a terrible nightmare to form.

I’m awake.

I’m going to untie your hands.

Gunjo slowly opened his eyes, but the pain was too much and they reflexively closed again. Agent Aldridge?

Yes.

Aldridge tugged at Gunjo’s wrists, releasing the restraints. Where am I?

In Headquarters hospital. The guard sent to get you was a little overzealous in his duty.

A little? Gunjo managed to get one eye to stay cracked open. Why did you send for me in the first place?

Agent Aldridge had the expression of someone who feels guilty over something he has no control. This can wait until you feel better.

Then give me something for the damn pain. He lifted his hand and rubbed the back of his neck. At least they had removed the handcuffs. I’d rather know what you want from me now than sit here wondering if I’m one step away from the noose.

Aldridge straightened from the wall where he’d been leaning. I’ll be right back. Do not try to escape. Menagerie agents guard the door.

Gunjo waved Gideon Aldridge away and closed his eyes again. If the agent understood the level of pain, he’d not have felt the need to make threats.

A bit later someone shook his shoulder. He woke in a daze. Memories trickled back. The pain in his head had downgraded to a dull throb.

Movement off to his right caught his attention. Dr. Sparks thought it more expedient if he gave you an injection of Morphine to stop the pain.

Gunjo levered himself up to sit on the edge of the bed. Every bruise and bump inflicted by the guard ached. Now, tell me why I’m here.

Aldridge pulled a chair over and sat in front of Gunjo. We, the Menagerie, need your help.

Gunjo scoffed. I’ve told you everything I know about Sir Simon’s operations. What happened after I was arrested has nothing to do with me.

This has nothing to do with Sir Simon. Well, only passingly so. When you broke into the Royal Depository you took an item—the Crystal Spyglass. We were unable to locate it when Sir Simon’s properties were raided and belongings seized.

Now Gunjo laughed out loud. It’s been three years. It’s long gone by now. His contacts on the continent would have seen to that.

He’d been so stupid. So proud. Sir Simon had spoke of changing and challenging the world order. Gunjo had never subscribed to any of that nonsense. What he’d agreed to was to steal items from the city’s elite that were pieces of a weather machine. Where Sir Simon had wanted to shape the future to fit his ideas, Gunjo had only viewed it as an act of commerce. Too late he’d discovered that Sir Simon had meant to drag East Angelía into a war with Aveneaux, and even went so far as to blowing up the Wayfarer Bridge during the height of traffic, killing so many, and destroying the local landmark.

Agent Aldridge leaned forward. The bright white of his shirt stood out stark against his tan skin and jet hair. The cut of his suit jacket had come up a notch in the last three years. Did he ever tell you what he meant to do with the item, or did you lift that of your own accord?

No, I suspect that was the entire reason he wanted me to go in, though he used the pieces of the weather machine as an enticement. Gunjo scratched at his scraggly beard. No hair grew over the scars from the acid burns he received as a child. He’d not looked in a mirror in years.

Did he ever tell you what the Spyglass does?

Gunjo gave a rusty laugh. You mean the mighty Menagerie doesn’t know? That’s rich.

Covington never told you then?

Gunjo rubbed the back of his neck where a dull ache continued to throb. Sorry to disappoint, but there was a lot Covington never bothered to tell me. I was his second-story man, not his confidant. He was my client, not my friend.

Aldridge rose and walked to the other side of the room, stalking like the black leopard that lived inside him. The Queen granted you clemency, but there are conditions.

The agent might have said that squirrels had taken to the theater stage, the words were so unlikely—either that or Aldridge meant to make him a fool.

Aldridge raised one of his dark brows. You aren’t interested in hearing the conditions?

I’m waiting for you to pull the rug away. Gunjo crossed his arms and leaned back, taking the position of a man who had all the time in the world to wait.

This is no magic trick, no bait and switch. The deal is honest and true, though one you might find hard to swallow.

Sounds like selling my soul for a handshake.

Aldridge’s mouth thinned. The news he was about to impart didn’t sit well with him. I wouldn’t phrase it quite that way, but you’ll no longer be your own master.

Being in prison the last few years, I’ve hardly been that. Gunjo made a rolling motion with his hand. Don’t keep me in suspense.

Aldridge leaned against the wall and crossed his arms over his chest. The Queen would like to extend an invitation to join the agency—one of non-shifting status—and use your considerable skills to track the Spyglass and return it to the depository.

Unbridled mirth filled Gunjo’s heart. Disbelief almost knocked him off the bed. He only had one question that kept running through his mind, even as the echo of the offer continued to rattle his brain. Why me?

Aldridge shrugged. Logic.

Not as far as Gunjo could tell. Logic had nothing to do with granting clemency to a man whose only claim to fame had been breaking into the Royal Depository. All right, so it was a spectacular feat of daring—and he had gotten away for the most part. If not for Agent Aldridge and the feline nose of power, Gunjo would have fled to the continent.

I beg to differ on that point, but if it gets me out of the desolation of that prison cell, I’ll gladly search for the Spyglass. Gunjo scratched at his beard. He thought sure he must have picked up lice in his cell. And if I find it? What happens once I turn it over? Am I free to go about my business, or am I beholden to the agency until I draw my last breath?

A hooded look passed over Aldridge’s face. He knew more he wasn’t telling. As I said before, there are conditions.

Am I to live in servitude forever? Is that the price I pay for agreeing to help the Crown’s cause?

You might find it worse than that. Aldridge reached into his inner coat pocket and pulled out a small folio. Here are the particulars. He started to hand it to Gunjo, but snatched it back. Can you read?

For a long time. Gunjo grabbed the documents from Aldridge.

Gunjo opened the folio and pulled out the papers inside. Badges, seals, and official writs named him as a member of the agency. The lease to a townhouse was inside, along with a key to the residence in question.

He glanced up at Aldridge. I have neither the need for a home of this size, nor resources to help maintain it. A flat in a boardinghouse might be more appropriate.

Aldridge frowned and shook his head. If you’re sure.

I am. I’d be uncomfortable in such a place. It’s not for me.

You are an odd sort of man, Mr. Gunjo. Aldridge took back the directions and key. I’ll contact the Department of Housing and see if they can give you accommodations you find more to your liking. If you decide to take the offer.

If. Several reasons came to mind on why he didn’t wish to live in a townhouse provided by the Crown. The first of which was any servants that came with the property were probably on Her Majesty’s payroll and would no doubt watch him day and night in case he put a toe out of line. A more comfortable form of jail, but a jail nonetheless.

At least a boardinghouse would allow him some measure of privacy once he was in his rooms at night. No matter where he lived, the first thing he’d do was purchase a lock and modify it so no Menagerie agents or their associates had the ability to enter his rooms and search inside.

Do I need to sign a contract? As he asked the question, he opened the last paper. Conditions and Consequences of Clemency. It seems I do.

It’s not a contract as much as it covers the fact you have read and understood what is being asked of you and what you will do in return.

I’ll need time to read this before I sign.

Aldridge frowned. There really isn’t a choice to make.

Gunjo raised a brow. For the first time in three years he felt a real kernel of fear open inside him. It’s so bad you can’t even bring yourself to say the words.

Aldridge pushed away from the wall and crossed the room to the door. I take no pleasure in wielding a double-edged sword.

What could he possibly mean by that? Gunjo didn’t ask. You’ll have my answer in the morning.

Aldridge reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a thin gold chain with a pendant.

Shock stilled him for a moment before he lunged forward to grab the precious memento. His mother’s necklace in the hands of the Menagerie. He thought it lost for good on his arrest.

Perhaps this might give you incentive to comply. As with the documents, Aldridge snatched it away. Not until you sign.

Gunjo ground his teeth, not willing to show how much it gutted him seeing the only reminder he had of his mother in the hands of the Menagerie.

I’ll return in the morning. In the meantime, perhaps you’ll get some rest. The bump on your head is pretty bad.

Gunjo gave a hollow laugh. For a moment there, I thought you actually cared.

Aldridge frowned again. When you’re a member of the agency, you’re like family. We take care of our own.

Then you have an odd way of showing it.

∞

Morning came too early and loudly for Gunjo’s tastes. Did the caretakers in Headquarters’ hospital not understand the concept of a healing rest? Apparently, they didn’t. No sooner had the thought formed than a nurse, dressed in the starched white pinafore and habit-like hat of her profession, began to bang metal bedpans together in the course of stacking them. Gods and devils, he’d heard less cacophony from a brass marching band.

Deciding it must be time to rise, Gunjo rolled to his side. His head continued to pound as a hammer on an anvil, but at least it wasn’t the blinding pain from the day before. If he ever caught that particular guard out of the prison, he was going to make life a very miserable experience for the man.

The noisy nurse shot him a glance from the corner of steely eyes. Agent Aldridge sent word that he’ll be here to collect you in fifteen minutes. I suggest you use the time to make yourself presentable.

Gunjo looked down at his clothes. Three years in the same prison garb, he’d be hard-pressed to manage presentable.

Do you have a place where I might bathe, borrow a change of clothes, and perhaps shave? I’m a housebreaker and a thief, not a magician. Not even I can pull water from thin air.

The nurse made a face that pinched her disapproving mouth even more—if that were possible. I’ll see what I can do, but I can’t promise anything.

Then I can’t promise to be presentable.

She made a noise in the back of her throat and hurried away.

Gunjo looked around the room. He’d not noticed much of it the night before. His head had hurt too bad to look. Now he appreciated all the little details he’d overlooked. Surfaces sparkled and gleamed in the sunshine, clean to a degree he’d never seen before. Four beds—two on each side of the room—were separated by curtains that hung on a track from the ceiling. Only one of the other beds was occupied by a man who had one leg and one arm casted and elevated. His eyes were still closed and his breathing deep. It appeared he’d slept through the crash of bedpan cymbals.

On the bedside table sat the folio he’d abandon for sleep. By the time Aldridge had left, Gunjo’s head hurt so badly he’d been unable to concentrate on the words. Lines of text had blended and blurred together making the document incomprehensible. He reached for it now and opened the Conditions of Clemency page.

Fancy script filled the paper. The bottom was signed and stamped by the Queen. It didn’t get any more official than that. He scanned the article. Certain words and phrases jumped out at him: execution, drain on governmental resources, enemy of the Crown, limited time.

Quickly, he went back to the top of the page and started again.

His heart pounded and breath came short. No wonder Aldridge hadn’t wanted to reveal the conditions of the clemency; it would be all or nothing. The government had decided all political prisoners would be put to death to ensure they were no longer a danger to the country. Since he had not provided any new information in the case over the past three years, he was considered a drain on the coffers. However, if he could find the Crystal Spyglass and return it to the custody of the Crown, his life would be spared, and he’d be free. Fail, and the death sentence would be carried out as scheduled.

He rolled off the bed and stood. Dizziness threatened to knock him back on his arse. The headache returned full force. Blood pulsed behind his eyes. Many times in his life, he’d been ready to die. More than he cared to count. However, give a man the hope of life, that one pale, gleaming spark on an otherwise dim horizon, and he’d take it. He had been given no real choice. Death or life.

They’d even sweetened the deal by giving him lodgings and servants—ones he’d declined, but they had made the offer. Spitefulness reared its ugly head. It would serve them right if he turned his back on this mortal coil and allowed them the honor of execution. Showed them that only he was in charge of his destiny and not afraid to pay the price for his actions.

Then what? He fell into the void of death, or his soul returned in another body as his mother had believed.

The door opened and an older gentleman with gold spectacles and hard eyes that suggested he missed nothing stepped into the room. What are you doing out of bed?

Wanted to get a look around. I haven’t been out of that damn cell in three years. I guess you could say I’m starved for a scenery change. Gunjo moved stiffly to the window in clear challenge. If these were his last moments to look out at the world, he wanted something more than the inside of a hospital ward to take into his eternity.

Will you please return to the bed so I can check your head and pupils? The man’s tone was both professional and as if he were long suffering in his calling.

Gunjo turned and started back for the bed. And you would be?

Dr. Sparks. He had a stethoscope in his hand. I am the Chief Medical Officer for the agency.

Gunjo raised a brow in surprise. And you’re caring for me yourself? I’d have thought I’d be regulated to some lesser medic.

Dr. Sparks gave him a lopsided grin. The notorious Gunjo? I wouldn’t have missed this for the world. He took a small optical torch from his pocket. Look directly at me.

The doctor waved the light in front of Gunjo’s eyes. He blinked, and his field of vision filled with spots.

Pupil reflexes normal. Dr. Sparks put the torch back into his pocket. Your coordination appeared fine when you walked to and from the window.

Am I fit enough to seal my fate?

It would appear so. Dr. Sparks stepped back. May I suggest a bath and shave before you meet with the Lord Chamberlain?

That seems to be the ultimate theme this morning, yet no one thought to offer me a way to accomplish the task. Your nurse seems to think I can do magic.

I’ll arrange it. Dr. Sparks took out a pocket watch and glanced at it. But we better hurry. Your appointment is coming up fairly quickly now.

As it was, Gunjo had barely enough time to dip his body into the water and give himself a good scrubbing before Agent Aldridge entered the ward.

Dirt and neglect washed away, turning the water a muddy brown. Gunjo’s skin tingled and glowed bright red.

I brought you some clothes. Aldridge set the pile on the counter near the tub. We’ll be cutting it close.

Gunjo stood and wrapped the towel around his body. Clean had never felt so good. If he’d been a caterpillar coming out of a chrysalis reborn, he’d not have felt as changed. Amazing what a little water and harsh soap could do for a man. His hair was still wet and hung below his shoulders. Since there wasn’t time for a haircut, he’d have to wear it pulled back in a tie. At least he’d had time to shave. The beard made his scars all the more visible instead of hiding them. He’d long since learned nothing would take them away.

As he combed his hair, he glanced at Aldridge’s reflection in the mirror. You could have warned me that I was signing my life away.

Aldridge had the sense to look chagrined as he turned his gaze from Gunjo’s. I’ve killed men on the battlefield while wearing the seal of the Menagerie, but I’ve never had to look one in the eyes and tell him his life rested on a razor-thin wire. You at least have a chance at redemption. This morning, the Queen, signed the execution orders on all others held.

Gunjo turned. Is she so convinced I’ll find the Spyglass?

Nothing like setting him an impossible task. Hell, he’d had an easier time breaking in to steal the damn thing in the first place.

No. That’s why she made recovery a condition of your clemency.

Apparently the Queen only hoped Gunjo managed to recover the artifact. She had no real faith in his abilities to do so. It stung as acid in his belly, but came as no real surprise. But why toy with him? What was in it for her? If they put him to death no one would really notice or care. He had no connections in the world.

He dressed quickly. The clothes fit him well and were of average quality. At least he didn’t have to feel bad that the agency went to much expense on his behalf. The way he figured it, they rather owed him for all the meals they’d saved on him while incarcerated.

He straightened his neckcloth—the article felt foreign and choking—then pulled on his jacket. I’m ready. Be it for good or bad.

Aldridge nodded and held out his arm, indicating Gunjo precede him out the door. Shall we go then? It’s not good to keep the Lord Chamberlain waiting. He’s an extremely impatient man.

Gunjo gave a nod. I know his reputation.

∞

Knowing a man’s reputation and meeting that same man in person were completely different experiences. Nothing could have prepared Gunjo for the full effect of the Lord Chamberlain—head of the Crown’s intelligence agency of both animutes and normals. He was a large, lumbering man who had more in common with a gray-bearded grizzly bear than a member of the aristocracy. Mutton-chop sideburns came down low and bushy on his rounded jowls, giving him the appearance of possessing a head twice the size it should have been. The odd combination captured Gunjo’s attention and refused to let go.

Aldridge sat on Gunjo’s right and didn’t seem to notice the disproportionate nature of the Lord Chamberlain’s cranium, but then again, he was probably used to the oddity.

Agent Aldridge informs me that you wished to read the conditions before you signed the release papers. Have you done so? Lord Wexford, the Lord Chamberlain, folded his hands across the desk blotter. The action reminded Gunjo of a butcher braiding sausages.

No favorable impression came from the man. He neither attempted to hide his disdain nor pretended cordiality. If anything, the Lord Chamberlain acted offended to be in the same room with a notorious thief. Two could play at this game.

Gunjo gave a brief, silent nod.

Displeased with the non-verbal answer, the Lord Chamberlain continued, And do you agree to the terms?

Gunjo gave another incline of his head to acknowledge the question. He took out the papers and unfolded them to expose the empty footer at the bottom of the page. I need a pen to sign.

The Lord Chamberlain stood, holding out an expensive pen and nib worth a small fortune. Gunjo knew, he’d stolen some of the same make from a minor noble years before, and sold them on the underground collector’s market for a tidy sum. He picked up the pen and held it between his fingers. This particular one wasn’t balanced well. Inferior workmanship had it weighted heavy on the upper end.

He dipped the pen in the jar of ink and scrawled his name along the bottom of the page next to the Queen’s. Odd, he’d never thought to see his name so closely linked with the monarch’s.

Aaron Vincent Lin.

It looked peculiar on the page. Years had come and gone since he’d used his birth name for anything other than a memory. His mother had always called him Gunjo. After her death, he’d used his nickname exclusively to remember her and the savage way she had died.

Both Agent Aldridge and Lord Wexford glanced down at the signature.

Is that your name? Aldridge looked rather confused.

It is. What? You didn’t think my real name was Gunjo, did you? Or that I’d sign papers this important with an alias? Even I know that to do so would violate the terms. If you’re going to hold me to this contract, then I’ll hold the Crown to the bargain as well.

The Lord Chamberlain made a dismissing sound in the back of his throat. We’ll see if you can accomplish the task in the time frame afforded. Though I would like to see the Spyglass recovered, it will give me no pleasure to see you set free to wander the streets again.

I’ll consider that a warning to watch my back in future. Gunjo gave a knowing smile. He wouldn’t put it past a man of Lord Wexford’s station and power to send an assassin to kill him as soon as the Spyglass was recovered. It would be made to look like an accident or a self-inflicted wound, but it would end in the same result.

The Lord Chamberlain’s face turned a vivid puce. How dare you, you vile creature.

The angrier the Lord Chamberlain became, the better Gunjo felt. He smiled wider.

Lord Wexford snatched the pen from Gunjo’s hand and scrawled an angry signature across the bottom of the page then shoved the implement at Agent Aldridge.

As Aldridge bent to sign his name as witness, Gunjo swore he saw a smirk lift the corner of the agent’s mouth. He might yet learn to like the man.

Chapter 2

Agent Aldridge proved as good as his word and handed Gunjo the keys to a flat located in a modest section of town. The carriage rolled to a stop outside the residence.

I hope this meets with your expectations. Aldridge reached his hand outside the window and opened the door. "I’ve been charged with overseeing your progress in this case. If