Free The 7th of London by Beau Schemery Page B

around, realizing his clothes were still in the bathroom. A mahogany bureau stood against one wall, and Sev opened the drawers, wondering if Jack had left clothes as he’d claimed. Sure enough, he found everything he needed and pulled off the nightshirt.
    A few moments later, wearing pressed wool pants, a crisp white shirt, and blissfully holeless boots, Sev descended the stairway and entered the common area of Midnight’s home. Jack sat at the end of his dining table nearest the dais and Sev. The villain reclined amidst an elaborate breakfast, more food than Sev had eaten in more than three months combined. Midnight was hidden behind a newspaper. The bottom stair creaked under Sev’s foot, and Midnight lowered the paper, a smile breaking easily across his mouth. “Seven! I trust you slept well?”
    “Aye, mighty well. My thanks,” Sev answered.
    “Bah,” Jack dismissed, waving a hand. “I hope Rat wasn’t too abrupt waking you.” Sev shrugged. “Yes, well, I’ve tried to refine our young friend, but he’s so delightfully coarse I just don’t have the heart.” Jack flashed Sev a mischievous smile. “He retrieved your owl, though.”
    “Aye, that he did,” Sev agreed.
    “Don’t just stand there, Seven.” Jack folded the paper, laying it on the table. “Sit down. Eat. You’ll need your strength.” Jack spread his napkin across his lap and tucked politely into his meal. Sev stood for a moment longer, unsure how to proceed. “It’s delicious. My man, Xiang, is a fantastic cook. He takes care of all my domestic concerns.” Midnight pronounced the Chinaman’s name like chiang . Sev pulled out the chair next to the second place setting. Sev tipped a sample from every platter onto his plate. The table was piled with sausages, eggs, bacon, ham, fat slabs of toast, and an entire haddock. Sev smeared butter from a ceramic tub onto a piece of toast and used the crisp bread as a makeshift utensil to shovel the food into his mouth, much less politely than the villain next to him.
    Jack smirked as he dabbed at his mouth with his napkin, pushing away his empty plate while Sev dished out a second helping. “I’m glad you found your appetite.” Sev couldn’t answer with his mouth full of food, but he offered an affirming grunt. “Obviously your table manners will need some work,” Jack chuckled, only half joking. Sev shot Midnight a sour glance. “We’re going to get you a serving position in the palace. You’ll need to be taught how to act properly, politely. You’ve a reputation for a hot temper when it comes to dealing with figures of authority. Do you think you’ll be able to control yourself for the sake of the job?”
    “O’course,” Sev answered after swallowing. “I won’t be really takin’ their garbage, just pretendin’ to.”
    Jack barked a satisfied laugh. “Well said, Seven. Well said, indeed.” Midnight sat forward. “How old are you, Sev?”
    “Not sure,” Sev answered, shrugging. “I can’t be more’n fifteen, but I can’t remember my birthday. Fervis never let us celebrate.”
    “Hm,” Jack said. “I would have guessed as much. But with a good shave you won’t look a day over twelve.”
    “Waverly always gave me grief over my baby face,” Sev agreed, nodding. “It’s a curse.”
    “And a gift,” Jack amended. “The Fairsies will be more apt to purchase your contract if they think you’re just a child.”
    “Purchase my contract?” Sev asked. Before Jack could answer, a small, olive-skinned man, with sleek black hair pulled into a braid that almost brushed the ground when he walked, entered the room with a large tray. He placed an ornate silver kettle, two cups, and a couple of covered bowls on the table before he gathered the dirty plates and partially empty platters. Without a word, the tiny man in the silk robe disappeared.
    “Thank you, Xiang,” Jack called to the man’s back. “Coffee?” He held up the kettle to Sev, who shrugged and nodded. Jack