Chapter 9
Chapter Nine
“You can stop pretending you are part of the awful scenery, Barton. Your shadows are too long and lean, and won’t hide you from the gallows,” Daniel muttered dryly.
He didn’t have to turn around. He knew his friend well enough. Theo simply could not resist a splash of color. Daniel could have sworn he saw some magenta on what was otherwise an uncharacteristically gloomy outfit for the Marquess.
His main focus was the alleyway, though. It smelled of river salt and rot. Because it was often used, he could also smell cheap gin. In front of him stood a dilapidated door, which was probably beaten down by the Shoreditch air, time, and the rough use it might have seen.
From behind a stack of shattered crates, a figure emerged. Theo stepped into a spot illuminated by an oil lamp. He dusted his greatcoat and tapped the magenta handkerchief sticking out of his breast pocket like a lucky charm.
“Here I was feeling proud of myself,” he grumbled, his eyes darting left and right.
He was brave enough to come through for Daniel, but did not really like the danger that might come with an encounter.
“I have been following you from Mayfair, where there were fewer hiding spots. Now that we are in the bowels of the earth, you must out me?”
“You’ve always been terrible at sneaking around.
I almost wished that you’d trip on something and go home before I call you by name,” Daniel said sharply, turning fully to face his friend.
“Go home. This isn’t one of our grand adventures.
We will be dealing with men who are used to violence, and if they see a pampered lord, they will put a knife to your throat. ”
All levity vanished from Theo’s expression. However, he also had a stubborn streak, which he used to advance upon his friend.
“I am no fool. We’ve been friends for years, and you know I am not.
Yes, I am used to frivolity, but I know where I am.
I know what you are trying to do, more than anyone could ever guess.
Other members of the ton don’t know that you have not given up on your quest to find the man who killed your family, and I am not letting you do it all alone. I am staying.”
“Theo—”
“You can threaten or order me, but you know that you need someone to talk you out of a situation if your temper rises. In this case, I know it will.”
Daniel stared at his friend coldly, almost willing him to disappear by virtue of his disappointment and disapproval. Still, he was met with silence. It made the sounds in the distance louder.
A cat yowled. Men laughed not too far away. With Theo standing firm, he had no choice but to go through with the plan with his friend.
He exhaled audibly.
“All right, then. Stay behind me,” he muttered. “Keep your mouth shut. I hope you know the quickest way to escape if things go south.”
“I do,” Theo said, nodding. “I will follow you like a shadow.”
“And shadows don’t talk.”
Daniel knew that he should keep his mouth shut from then on, too. Then, he turned to the door of the gambling den, The Iron Hand, and opened it.
Inside the Iron Hand was a world both men were unfamiliar with. The sights, sounds, and smells were like an assault on their senses. The odor was stale and acrid due to sweat, general unsanitary conditions, and cheap ale.
Several men huddled around wooden tables, their faces illuminated by tallow candles. Their expressions varied from raw desperation to grinning greed. The sounds were just as harsh, grumbles and roars of laughter blending with the rolling of the dice and the slapping of cards.
As soon as both men entered the room, the atmosphere changed.
Daniel could sense it. Everything felt chillier.
The sounds also became muted, with grunts becoming whispers and hand movements slowing down.
Furtive glances cast their way made it very clear that no matter how stealthy they were, they stood out in the crowd.
“Fantastic,” Theo whispered, his shocked eyes scanning the den. They were drawn to the strange stains on the peeling, cracked wallpaper. “The decor here is quite lovely. I have no plans of my skull becoming part of it.”
“Hush,” Daniel hissed.
He walked purposely toward a table where four men huddled over cards. Their focus wavered as soon as they sensed the new arrivals. Meanwhile, Daniel focused on the dealer, a man with glassy eyes.
“I am looking for Moses Gordon,” he declared without preamble.
The dealer simply watched him with a blank expression. The rest of the men were just as tight-lipped.
Daniel tried not to show his frustration at the lack of reaction. He was hoping that one would at least be careless enough to blurt out something, but he thought of other ways to persuade them.
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a heavy leather pouch. Then, he dropped it on the table, the gold coins clinking against each other. The sound felt like a gunshot in the room, which had gone almost completely quiet.
“I will give the gold to anyone who can give me information on Moses Gordon,” he said.
His voice remained controlled, but it asserted his authority.
The men’s eyes fluttered, revealing a clear interest in the money. The dealer studied Daniel, watching his white-knuckled fists.
“Gordon is a regular,” he finally admitted, “but he hasn’t shown up for days. He is a stealthy man who deals with a dangerous crowd. He is careful who he talks to, but they all look like they are hiding something from the authorities.”
“Do you know anyone he talks to? Who gives him orders?” Daniel prompted, feeling excitement building within him.
There was nothing tangible, but the man’s words confirmed the existence of the man Valentine St. Clair said could be responsible for the fire.
“One thing is fer sure,” another man added, his voice shaking even as his eyes kept darting to the leather pouch. “Gordon doesn’t take orders from the likes of us. If you want to find him, try the tavern nearby. It’s called The Midnight Ale.”
“The Midnight Ale,” Daniel echoed. “Do you know anything else about Moses Gordon?”
All the men at the table shook their heads.
The one who mentioned the tavern said, “That’s all we got on the man.”
Daniel tilted his head to the side thoughtfully. He regarded the men. They looked hungry and desperate, but seemed to be telling the truth.
“All right, then. Keep the money. There will be more if anyone can provide me with additional information, if I ever come here again. But do not tell anyone that I was here if you know what’s good for you,” he warned.
The men nodded quickly.
Daniel wondered if they were doing it so that he would leave as soon as possible, and they could count the gold coins. Whatever the case might be, it didn’t look like the men knew anything more.
It was not a surprise, but it was still disappointing. Moses Gordon was a cipher, but at least Daniel knew where to go next.
He nodded at Theo, who had fallen silent during the exchange. The Marquess certainly seemed more serious when his tongue rested from restless talking.
“Go home,” Daniel told his friend as they left the gambling den and braved the chilly air outside. His lungs thanked him for leaving the stuffy, moldy room, but the stench outside was not much of an improvement. “I will handle this.”
“I am certainly not leaving you now. I want to know more about this Moses Gordon,” Theo responded.
“One person can do the questioning, and that will be me,” Daniel retorted. “You may go home. This is my mission.”
“Your mission? You are entering a tavern possibly full of drunks,” Theo said. “If Moses Gordon were there, then everything could even be worse for you.”
“Worse for me, all right,” Daniel muttered.
“I am going with you, and that is final. I did not follow you all the way from Mayfair to be dismissed so quickly.”
Daniel huffed and marched into the nearby tavern. He could no longer wait for his friend to agree with him. The man was a damned adult who could decide for himself—barely, but he was a good friend. Not wise, but good.
“Huh,” he muttered as they entered the tavern.
It was not quite what he had expected. While the gambling den was loud and full of activity, the tavern seemed abandoned.
“Wait here. Let me see what else is in there,” he told Theo in a tone that brooked no argument.
He headed inside to find a group of men huddled around a makeshift bar. The tavern did not seem to be a place of business anymore, at least not the kind of business he expected. It was merely a place where certain men met to plan notorious crimes.
“Do you know Moses Gordon?” he asked anyway.
“And what is it that a Fancy Pants like you needs with a man like him?” one of the men asked, showing three missing front teeth and yellowed molars.
“Why are you here? Are you not afraid to dirty those fine clothes?” another sneered.
“They think they can order everyone around here,” a third one added. “We are not servants, boys. We are the men of the world, and we are not afraid of your deep pockets.”
Daniel ignored the insults and insinuations and stepped forward. He was not afraid of them either, and when two blazing fires met, it was never a good idea.