Wild Boy and the Black Terror by Rob Lloyd Jones Read Free Book Online Page A

spent the afternoon studying Prendergast for clues to what had caused his affliction.
    Marcus shook his head slowly. “They have tested the man for every known disease. Consumption, white lead, new strains of cholera. The powdered remains of the Queen’s necklace were also examined. They contained no poison, no substance that might have caused any effect upon Prendergast. The box was just a box, and the crushed jewels were just crushed jewels. Hours of study by the country’s leading medical men, and the closest any have come to a diagnosis is to agree that Prendergast has been, somehow, frightened to within an inch of his life.”
    “Could’ve told them that before they began,” Clarissa said. “So we ain’t got no clues?”
    Wild Boy shifted closer to the window, watching Prendergast being led across the courtyard. “Who’s that with him now?”
    “A young physician named Carew,” Marcus replied. “He studied in India, specializing in rare diseases. He volunteered to take care of Prendergast.”
    Dr Carew looked like he regretted his eagerness. His face was lit with nervous sweat, and his spectacles kept slipping down his nose. But the doctor wasn’t the only person keeping an eye on Prendergast. Across the courtyard, Lucien watched from the shadows. He snorted a pinch of snuff without taking his gaze off the doctor and patient.
    Gideon was there too, wrapped in his huge coat. His face screwed up tighter than ever, and he tugged at his neck cloth as if trying to strangle himself. His small eyes were fixed on Prendergast. Did the Queen’s story mean something to him too?
    Wild Boy slowly turned the card over in his hand. “Malphas,” he said.
    “Think it’s a name?” Clarissa said.
    Marcus closed his eye, wincing at another stab of pain in his head. “I do not know,” he said. “Are you not ready yet, Clarissa?”
    “Button’s stuck,” she replied. “So you think this is just a boring old theft then? Whoever done it kept one of the jewels, remember? The Queen’s black diamond.”
    “Clarissa…”
    “Although why crush up the other stones if it’s a theft? Sounds more like a threat, right?”
    “I do not know, Clarissa!”
    Clarissa’s head rose from behind the screen. “Bit grumpy tonight, ain’t you?”
    Marcus sighed. “I apologize. It has been a long week, which I fear is about to get longer. As for your speculation, you might be surprised to learn that to assassinate Her Majesty would not be an especially difficult task. Her agenda is widely known. She rides her carriage in public, and her horses. She regularly stops in Hyde Park to converse with strangers. Any fool with a pistol could take a shot at her. Indeed, several have. It was only through poor planning that their attempts did not succeed.”
    Wild Boy had heard about one of those cases. Last year a madman shot at Queen Victoria as she rode from Buckingham Palace. The man escaped, but the Queen insisted on riding the same route the next day to tempt him to strike again. The risk paid off: the gunman was caught.
    “I reckon Lucien knows something about all this,” Clarissa said. “Did you see his face when he saw that card? Pink as a boiled ham.”
    Marcus was about to reply when a shot of pain struck his skull. He tried to hide his grimace but it reflected around the room’s mirrors. He slicked back his hair, trying to gather his composure, but when he spoke again his voice was softer than usual, distant.
    “I have not always been in charge of this organization,” he said.
    Clarissa’s head rose again from behind the screen. Marcus rarely told stories about the history of the Gentlemen, and he never spoke about himself.
    Wild Boy and Clarissa had asked, plenty of times. They’d searched the palace for Marcus’s bedroom, but not found it. They’d probed for information about his family, but got none. Wild Boy had studied him for clues, but their guardian’s clothes were always so perfectly pressed that it was hard to