The Iron Man [Serial]

The Lavender Room

Murphy and I walked at a determined pace from my neighborhood. I gathered we moved south, possibly toward a river escape. This course put us in the territory of the Mercantile, where great masonry storehouses, post & wire offices, and banking houses stood several stories high, and car parks with matched teams of strongcars were more common than liveries or steam-cabriolets. My disguise, well-crafted or not, was not best suited to this area.

My stolen togs had been selected mainly for size and ability to mix and match, but also with some consideration to my limited ability to act out-of-caste.  I was intimately familiar with the manner of young snipper-snappers, be they junior tailors of the manual caste or design assistants from the Creatrix; they all invariably entered my dhobitorium carrying caddies of ceramic shop cups from  local tea houses along with their garment bags and sewing kits. They were, by merit of their middling lot, likely to sass those beneath them as to be coy with those who could provide advantage.

This area closer to the Thames seemed little affected by the holiday. There was no trade with the general public that I saw, but every building seemed under armed guard. There was not another long-tailed dude or snippy valet in sight.

"We should be off the street, Sir," I said.

My companion chuckled, "You may take my arm, if you are scared."

I espied his Scipio hanging from the crook of his limb and thought perhaps his words were in code but being less than socially appropriate as given I offered my best sassy retort, "One of my position does not handle a rake, Sir." 

Murphy halted, and touched his right hand to my shoulder. He leaned in to whisper, "I did not think you a common gardener. Perhaps you'd prefer to pick a bouquet of nightflowers?" His left hand, which held his valise, gestured vaguely to a near alley.

I soon understood his meaning as I saw the doll with non-compliant knotted skirts that showed her lower limbs and beside her the lad in manual regs with unlaced shirt. "A rake and a Corinthian," I whispered. I turned from the flower vendors, which was to stand face-to-face with a grinning Murphy.

He said something I couldn't quite translate other than to note a too-familiar shortening of my name to "Jules".

Peering over Murphy's shoulder, I noticed a familiar sign. "There are other flowers, Sir," I said, putting my hand upon Murphy's arm to steer him across the street.

There, hanging from the covered porch of a machine parts warehouse, near the corner of the building, was a bundle of lavender. I drew Murphy along into the adjacent alley where I soon discovered a service door. I shifted my hold on the garment bag to raise my hand to pull the bell cord. 

The door was opened inward by a man in simple trousers, shirt, and vest, who wore a leather toolbelt across his hips.  He did not speak a greeting, but looked at us with obvious scrutiny. "I need to see Heather Gray," I said.

"It's a common color."

If this was a further code phrase, I did not know the correct reply. I tried again. "Please show me in to Miss Heather Gray. My mother knew her, but if she's changed her name, I've not been told. My mother is gone."

"Wait just here," the man said, pointing to a bit of bocking cloth inside the door.

I stepped inside, followed by Murphy, who shut the door behind us. Inside, I could see stacked wooden crates and paper boxes. I might have sent to a place such as this for parts for the laundrodeon over the last few years.

When the man returned, he was accompanied by a similarly dressed woman of somewhat darker coloring; she wore a skirt and apron instead of trousers and belt, which was in keeping with gender regulations.

"Salaam," Murphy said, bringing his hands together as best he could and bowing his head.

"It's this one," the man said, tipping his head towards me.

 "You can call me Heather, Dear," she said softly, "If your mother is no longer with us, can you tell us her real name?"

"Ha. Madison Dangerous."

"A Dobby?"

The man began to move, but Heather showed the palm of her hand to him and he stilled.

"As I am, Ma'am." I sighed and made what I hoped was a suitably apologetic expression as I gestured to my present attire.

"I see. And how can we help you?"

"I-- We need a safe place to rest until the Evening Review."

"Mister Gray will show you to the keeping room," Heather said. She lifted her gaze to Murphy, "Do you expect company?"

"No, and we'll be on our way soon as we can. Do you know of a place to send a secure wire?"

"I'll let you know when you leave," Heather said.

Mister Gray beckoned and I followed with Murphy through a seeming maze of stacked boxes. We came to a wall hung with various tools, well-organized with pegs and painted outlines. Mister Gray tugged at a spanner and a section of the wall moved outward and then slid to the left. Beyond, there was a wide, shallow chamber behind.

I stepped inside the lavender room and saw furnishings similar to those once kept in a small room at the back of my dhobitorium: a cot, a prayer rug, a chamber pot, a ladderback chair, a low table, and oil lamp.

Mister Gray-- I knew this was a code name as Murphy was --explained the warning signals they would use and the importance of minimizing light and noise. I only half-listened, hearing Murphy's low voice make a reply, as I remembered the Gendarmerie taking my mother.

"Julien."

I turned. Murphy and I were closeted in the lavender room. "I'm going to need a new name."

"Julien," he said again. "Try to get some rest."

I did not trust Murphy, but I was quite suddenly aware of being to tired to care.