The other tables proved just as hard—imparting little bits of myself, learning the secret hopes and fears of people I called friends.
How had Henry borne such incredible responsibility and kept that easy smile on his face all the time? I was no Henry. And I was a wreck when I got finished. Felt like I’d run a mile. But I lingered in the pub an extra minute, not to catch my breath, but because I wasn’t sure I was ready to hear what Church was so eager to tell me about Henry’s arrangements.
I finally ducked through the velvet curtain into the venue side.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Human scripture submits that transgression begins in the heart. This truth illuminates opportunities for the willing thanatist.
—Shadow Theory Apocrypha: A Discussion of Umbralogical Potentialities
Church hadn’t gottento the venue side of the Iron Horse yet. So, I stood in the middle of the empty floor, taking in the settled musk of sweat and smoke and spilled beer. Such a great smell.
Someone had forgotten to coil the amp cables and put away the mic stands from the last gig. I jumped onstage and set to doing so, winding the cables into manageable circles, straightening out the stands, and setting them all in their place.
When I was done, I stood center stage, staring out at the empty space where hundreds of music lovers crammed in to watch and listen to the best up-and-coming bands. The latent thrill never got old. Being onstage felt like a miracle. Like new life every time I stepped out to share my music, believing thesongs mattered, that they might live on in the people after the show was over.
Church stepped through the curtains, his satchel under his arm and his stogie in his mouth. “You’ve always looked quite at home up there, Jack.
Reminds me of how I used to be with my wife and little ones after a good day in court.”
He drew two chairs to the center of the empty floor and waved at me to come sit.
I hopped down and took my seat. I loved Church, even though we were as different as tweed and leather. “Alastair Cooper? Barrister?”
Church chuffed a soft laugh. “I served as a barrister for a time before, well, before I died.”
“Sounds like there’s more to that story,” I said.
“How about we save the rest for another time? Suffice it to say the old name allows me to work the topside courts. If I’m honest, though, being Church is more fun.”
I had a feeling I’d be needing both sides of him. “So . . . what about Henry.”
“Well, Jack, not to put too fine a point on it, but the Iron Horse is now yours.” He reached into his satchel and pulled out a clipboard with some documents attached.
Seemed like Brach’s concern about me being Henry’s “next of kin” was justified. I told Church about Brach’s appearance at the morgue.
“He didn’t get anything, did he?”
“No, but what would he have been looking for?”
Church leaned over his cane. “Could have been hoping to find me—the executor of Henry’s will.” He stroked his beard. “But I think Henry also kept a perishable copy of access codes in his billfold. Perhaps the ward lock to the Abyssal Steps was on it.In either case, he’s too late. Henry has bequeathed the Horse to you.”
Old Henry, I should have known. “That’s too generous. And I’m not sure I’d know how to run a pub and venue even if half the clientele weren’t already dead.”
“The Horse does have business operations, of course. Those are part of its proprietorship. But we have, as you know, senior staff members who can help make that transition seamless for you, present company included.”
“I think I could do something on the venue side,” I said. “Booking bands, sound and light engineers. Stuff like that.”
“Of course you can. But it wasn’t your music expertise or even Henry’s belief that you’d return as a thanatist that convinced him to give you the Iron Horse.”
I waited.
Church thumbed the papers. “He recognized a particular quality in you, Jack. He wanted someone to carry on here who would manage the place—its people and purpose—with authentic care and concern.”
I looked up at the stage behind Church. I loved Henry. I loved the Iron Horse. But I was just a songwriter. Everything I’d done in life, even working here, had been about my music. It was the only thing I knew or was any good at.
But this place was now all that stood between the London we knew and a war that would kill thousands in order to implement Brach’s vision for the city. And once installed, his revolution would bendallminds to his will, beginning . . . with music.
