Chapter 2
Chapter Two
“This does not seem like a good idea,” Theo Arnold, the Marquess of Barton, grumbled.
“We could have been sipping vintage champagne at Wolfcrest House. You have somehow chosen the stench of rotting fish and the possibility of getting stabbed in the stomach instead of having a wonderful time with your family and friends.”
Theo had been Daniel’s friend for a long time, and the two of them complement each other.
There was a time when they were too similar, carefree, and seemingly without a worry in the world.
However, Daniel Brighton, the Duke of Stonewynn, formerly the Marquess of Grisham, had finally opened his eyes to what was happening to his sisters while he was touring the Continent.
He had promised himself that he would not let anyone harm them again.
This determination had brought forth a new kind of seriousness.
“Are you not my friend, Barton?” Daniel asked, with a lopsided smile.
His friend adjusted his silk cravat. His suit was a pale blue against Daniel’s black, and he stood out in the sooty corner of the tavern, so completely separate from the world they both belonged to.
“Yes, but you know what I mean. Do you think we can be safe here?” Theo asked nervously, and Daniel almost felt sorry for him.
He stood perfectly still. They stood between two buildings that flanked the narrow alley. Unlike Theo, he wore a dark coat that made him blend with the gloom. His deep blue eyes stood out, like the eyes of a predator scanning its new environment.
“Adrian told me that this is where I will find answers. I wouldn’t have come here otherwise,” Daniel explained coolly. His voice was deep and gravelly. “The Dead Man’s Hand isn’t a place for social graces. You may wait by the carriage if you are worried about your suit.”
“Ha! As your friend, I was merely reminding you that we are not well-suited here. We know it, and everyone else will know it. But I won’t let you have all the fun of being murdered and thrown in the gutter,” Theo grumbled. “And how do you know the trail isn’t cold yet? Too cold.”
Daniel stopped. He finally turned to his friend, tilting his head to the side even as his hand hovered over the grimy doorknob.
“The matter of Suffolk will never be too long ago, Barton. My uncle and my cousin were burned to death in that house. Can you imagine such a painful death? It was cruel, especially for good men like them. I had to pull their charred remains, trying to get as much of what they left behind. It wasn’t an accident, and I need to know who did it.
I must find the man who struck the match, and whether that same man was the mastermind behind the attack. ”
Then, he pushed the door open.
The Dead Man’s Hand was exactly how Daniel imagined it would be. It smelled of unwashed clothes mingling with tobacco smoke and cheap ale, or whatever poison was being served there to strong stomachs that were used to being hungry or eating grub.
The place seemed to have never been scrubbed of soot. Black walls seemed to highlight its very name. Sawdust sprinkled the floor as if someone had begun to repair the place but changed their mind. There was nothing to suggest the tavern needed tender, loving care.
And the sounds? It was a low hum of gruff voices on various deals, ones that made Daniel’s ears perk up.
“Make sure ye get the boxes delivered through the back alley by the docks,” one man said.
“What about coin? Ye can’t simply tell us what to do.”
“Coin comes after, ye know that.”
Daniel followed the voices. He wondered if these were the whispers Adrian was telling him about or something else entirely. The Dead Man’s Hand seemed like a place where anything nefarious could happen.
He didn’t wait to ponder the possibilities. He strode toward the men huddled around a table. He moved smoothly; the only sound was that of his boots thudding on the rough wooden floor. His eyes were fixed on the group, his chin up, his face expressionless.
“Stonewynn,” Theo warned from behind, even as he followed.
Daniel ignored him and finally reached the table in the dark corner, where illegal dealings were being discussed in the open.
A large man with a jagged scar on his left cheek looked up to see him approaching and spat on the floor, his eyes holding Daniel’s. He leaned on the table, displaying his large forearms. Then, he rested his cards on the table.
Face down.
It was a signal. It was a warning.
It did not deter Daniel. Meanwhile, the other men still clutched at their cards, as if they expected the game to resume after the strangers were dealt with. Their eyes were hard, but they flickered with incredulity when Daniel dragged a chair over to sit with them. Theo exhaled in exasperation.
“I am looking for a specialist,” Daniel began, using his modulated voice.
Despite his control, his voice seemed to carry through the tavern. It was as if everyone had stopped their conversations when the Duke and Marquess made their presence known.
“Someone who is… an expert with fire,” he continued. “One who can make even a large stone building burn as if it were made of tinder, but is quick enough to disappear before getting caught.”
“What do ye think we are here fer, lad? We know nothing about such specialists,” the man with the scar rasped, even as his hand drifted below the table.
Daniel was on high alert. He knew these men could easily go on the defensive, with weapons in hand.
“Do ye think that just because we are in this tavern and not fancy as the two of you, we are criminals?” a second one asked with a smirk. “We are playing cards, as you can see.”
Without as much as blinking, Daniel reached into his pocket and pulled out a gold sovereign. He placed it on the table, but rested his hand over it.
“There is no need to pretend between us. I am neither the Crown nor the Watch. However, I have a long memory and a short temper. Think about Suffolk. One year ago. Who could have burned something for coin?”
“You are asking us to get us killed,” the smallest man near the wall hissed. His eyes darted around the room as if he expected to get attacked. “Think. A person who plays with fire to murder someone is not someone to hunt without taking a risk.”
The men exchanged a look. To the untrained eye, it was merely a questioning glance or a look of agreement. However, Daniel could see fear in their eyes. They truly believed that whoever set the fire was not one to be trifled with.
They rose from their seats, scooped the few coins they had on the table, and then scurried away, looking like they were headed for the back exit.
Daniel rose, set to follow them, when he felt a heavy hand land on his shoulder.
“You are asking too many questions,” a man rasped. “My customers do not appreciate that kind of interrogation.”
Daniel turned to see the large tavernkeeper.
While Daniel was tall and had grown broader as he grew older, the other man was like a barrel.
He looked like someone who could crush another man with his bare hands.
Behind him, rough-looking customers were glaring at him, as if to prove the enormous man’s point.
Some were openly assessing his and Theo’s attire.
“My customers are here to have a hearty drink,” the tavernkeeper continued. “They do not appreciate blue bloods poking their noses into business that does not concern them. It’s time you leave the establishment with your fancy friend.”
“I believe your hand should not be on my arm,” Daniel groused, his eyes narrowed on the man’s hand. “Remove it now.”
The tavernkeeper remained where he was.
The two regarded each other as if they were going to start a duel. The air inside The Dead Man’s Hand grew thick with tension.
Violence seemed ready to erupt.
Daniel felt his muscles coiling as he prepared his body for attack or defense against the hefty man before him.
“Stonewynn, for the love of all that is holy,” Theo whispered as he moved closer to him, “and the love of all your sisters, do not. We can take down two or three in a fistfight, but not a whole tavern of them. I would rather not die in this place with my obituary announcing how I was punched to death in my best suit in a tavern.”
Daniel clenched his jaw as he tried to control his breathing. He did not take his eyes off the tavernkeeper, keeping the challenge steady.
The other man faltered, perhaps seeing murder in his eyes. His grip on Daniel’s shoulder lightened.
Daniel was taller than him, even if the other man had more muscle, which seemed necessary in his line of work. However, Daniel had seen so much and would not let himself be cowed.
Still, Theo had become the voice of reason, and he saw how true his friend’s words were. They might be on a mission, and he might have his pride, but nothing was worth dying for. He had family members who relied on him to keep himself alive, even though his sisters had married quite well.
“My apologies,” Daniel rumbled.
Then, he reached for his pocket a second time. This time, he pulled a small bag of silver. He dropped it on the nearest table, its clatter echoing across the room.
“A round for everyone, for disturbing the peace,” he offered. “I do not intend to start a fight. I am merely seeking answers.”
Then, he turned on his heel and flung the tavern door open. He and Theo exited the establishment in a huff.
Frustrated and still vibrating with repressed anger, Daniel paced outside.
As the air of the night hit his face, his hands curled into tight fists. He had done everything he could to avoid hitting anyone.
“Daniel?” Theo approached gently.
“One year, Theo,” Daniel replied, his body still wound tight. “It’s been a year, and I am still not close to discovering what happened at Suffolk. It’s been a long time since I’ve stood over their ashes.”