The Accidental Afterlife of Thomas Marsden by Emma Trevayne Read Free Book Online

Please Mordecai”—those words were like claws at Deadnettle’s face—“and we have nothing to fear.”
    The younger ones, for they were all, now, younger than Deadnettle, had nodded. They hadn’t been spared thevision of Mordecai’s displeasure in the past, and it was an ugly sight. Mordecai might not keep iron in their home, but a lump of the stuff was never difficult to find.
    â€œWe are the gateways, never more than when the calendar reads this, the final night of the month of April. This is our most sacred night, and I know we would rather spend it elsewhere. We are altogether too far from our home. But we must do our best and take what small comfort we can from the knowledge that Mordecai could not achieve this without us. He needs us. That is his weakness.”
    It was not, however, the only one. With his excellent hearing, Deadnettle made out the thump of a walking stick and pictured the gnarled, black hand that held it. Covered by a glove in public, naturally, but Deadnettle had seen it often. Mentioning the injury was one way to raise Mordecai’s ire. Deadnettle had not done so in many years, but he noticed it constantly.
    On the other side of the curtains, the theater was emptying, but slowly. Naturally, everyone who had witnessed the spectacle wanted to stop and speak to the great spiritualist, or at least to shake his hand and congratulate him. It would be several more minutes at least before it was just Mordecai and the faeries, not another soul left in the whole place. Mordecai always arranged that it should be so, ushers and sweepers and ticket takers given a day’s holiday. It addedan air of mystery to the whole affair, which Deadnettle was certain Mordecai would have enjoyed even if there were no good reason for it, but more important, it meant that no one saw them arrive or leave.
    Mordecai took great care to protect his secrets.
    Or, rather, his twenty-seven secrets.
    Finally, only two voices remained from what had been a crowd of hundreds in the theater.
    â€œDeadnettle—” someone began from the other side of the cage.
    â€œHush!” Deadnettle said, listening to the conversation farther away.
    â€œA fine display once again, Mordecai,” said a man, just a hint of frost overlaying the warmth to his tone. “The rest of us do so wonder how you do it.”
    Mordecai laughed. “Hard work and a natural gift, Jensen, same as yourself. You are keeping well, I trust?”
    â€œWell enough,” said the man Jensen. “Though, clearly, not as well as yourself. Better, however, than one of your guests.”
    â€œOh?”
    â€œA young boy beside me was frightened to the point of fainting. Do not worry. I provided smelling salts and escorted the family out to a hansom. Paid for it too, since it was clear they hadn’t the coin.”
    Marigold tugged on Deadnettle’s arm, and he nodded. He wondered . . .
    â€œThen I thank you for doing so without disrupting the performance,” said Mordecai. It was clear that he had neither noticed the episode nor cared about it now.
    â€œThe kindness wasn’t done for you.”
    â€œNow, now, Jensen, your jealousy is showing. Success has been good to me. I will not deny it. Of course,” he said, and Deadnettle could just picture the wink, “it could always be better.”
    Behind the curtain, Deadnettle’s fingers curled to fists.
    â€œBetter than to be personal spiritualist to the queen herself? Oh, yes, I spotted her, Mordecai, behind her veil in her box.”
    â€œShe is a supporter of my work, indeed, and one can hardly blame her! Such a tragic tale. If I offer her some peace and solace, well, that is just a good service, don’t you agree?”
    â€œ Indeed. Perhaps I and some of the others should come to you for lessons in . . . benevolence. You can teach us your ways, so that we might also provide such comforts to the citizens of