Chapter 2
Ban crouched on the pitched roof of the warehouse and studied the empty cobblestoned yard that rolled down to the riverside stairs.
The wet cobbles glistened in the moonlight.
A storm had passed through over an hour ago, affording the air a temporary respite from the normally pungent aroma of the Thames.
The yard was eerily quiet and still. Farther down lightermen guided their boats to the dockside and unloaded the cargo onto wagons destined for other warehouses or for businesses in Town.
He and his brothers had deliberately told all of their lightermen to stay away tonight.
They had a traitor in their midst. Someone determined to thwart Con's efforts to gain total control of Bill Green's gangs and operations on the East Side.
The Dyer brothers had spent these ten years ferreting out the last of Bill's men and consolidating their hold on every bit of criminal activity in the rookeries.
Their reputation had taken root throughout the alleys and narrow lanes of London's darkest havens of misery for the most part.
They were known to be ruthless, uncompromising, fearless, but fair with those who agreed to their terms. Their reign had not come without costs.
Warrick had been press-ganged into the Royal Navy eight years earlier in revenge for Con and Fam having killed Bill Green and two of his henchmen.
He'd just returned and taken his place in their business as if he'd never been gone.
He'd survived war and cruelty that had left him stronger and harder, but haunted. Something Ban knew all too well.
Nell, on the other hand, had fled to Mayfair, unable to continue to live the dangerous and nefarious life Ban and his brothers had cut out for themselves. They neither saw nor heard from her directly, but Con had people who reported to him that she was safe and employed in a wealthy household.
Ban glanced over his shoulder. The still damp air clung to him and made his fine linen shirt stick to his skin under his long wool tailcoat.
The moon was behind him and had moved higher in the sky.
His brothers would be here soon. They'd let it be known in the various taverns in Limehouse they intended to meet at an hour past midnight with a wealthy merchant at what had once been Bill Green's warehouse, but now served as their headquarters.
The perfect opportunity for an ambush by the few remaining members of Bill's gang determined to rid the Dials and St. Giles of the Dyer brothers forever.
There was no wealthy merchant. Con, Fam, and War had planned to ride into the warehouse yard fully armed and take these gutter rats out once and for all.
Ban, however, had no intention of waiting.
He'd received word from one of his sources that the assassins planned to break into the warehouse a half hour before his brothers were expected to arrive.
And so, he waited, perched on the roof like a cathedral gargoyle ready to end this ambush before it started.
Speaking of which...His eyes were drawn to movement directly below his perch.
From out of the shadows on either side of the building men crept toward the warehouse doors.
Six of them. Despite the bright gleam of the moon Ban could not make out their faces.
Not that it mattered one whit to him. They were up to no good, the kind of no good that would have his brothers dead.
He pulled his pair of Mantons from across his chest. With two shots each, he would be able to dispatch four of the men quite handily.
The other two would have the misfortune of meeting his knife.
The only thing Ban feared at this point was the loss of one of his brothers. Time to settle this once and for all.
He waited for them to get into position.
Two of them, from the noises of tools at work, were trying to break into the warehouse.
Two more had wandered close to the dockside stairs, perhaps to make certain his brothers did not come in by way of the river.
Two more stood in the middle of the yard, guarding the backs of the would-be lock breakers.
Ban crept to the edge of the roof with the stealth and skill of long years from childhood of using the rooftops of the Dials and St. Giles as a route free of interference.
With a final deep breath, he pushed off the roof and landed on cat-light feet between the lock-breakers and their guards.
"Evening, gents." He rose from his crouched position thumbing back the hammers on the Mantons.
In a pair of deafening blasts and clouds of blinding smoke one of the men at the warehouse door and one of the guards crumpled to the ground.
The other of the guards tried to run. Ban cocked the second hammer on each pistol and took the running man down with a shot to the back.
The men who had gone to the river stairs started toward him.
"What the--"
"Christ Almighty, it's one of the Dyers!"
The second of the lock-breakers had scurried inside the warehouse. Ban headed toward the two men from the stairs. He dropped his empty pistol and pulled his long knife from his belt.
"Wait, Dyer! Wait!" One of the men stepped into the moonlight, his hands raised in surrender. "I brought them here to--"
"You brought them here to kill me and my brothers, Digger Jenkins, you hen-hearted dog.
" Ban pointed the pistol at him. His heart fairly burned in his chest at the betrayal.
He and his brothers demanded little from their men, but loyalty was the one thing on which they refused to compromise.
Digger had been with them almost from the beginning, and now he knew why.
The other man started down the quay. Ban threw his knife, and Digger's cowardly companion went down shrieking with the blade dug hilt-deep into the back of his thigh. The clatter of hoofbeats on the cobbles and the shouts of all-to-familiar voices announced the arrival of Ban's brothers.
"What the hell, Ban?" Con shouted as he threw himself off his horse.
"There's one in the warehouse," Ban replied evenly, his eyes still fixed on Digger. "Have a care. He's likely carrying a gun or a knife."
"Fuck," Warrick muttered as he jumped from his horse, grabbed his boarding axe, and went to the warehouse door.
"For the love of Prinny's bollocks where the hell is that screaming coming from?" Fam asked from atop his horse, Black Bess. Ban jerked his head toward the quay.
"Digger's friend ran. Bring back my knife, will you?"
Fam walked Bess toward the squealing thug trying to crawl away.
"Digger," Con growled. "You bloody dog. After all we've done for you.
" He strode over and slapped the traitor so hard he staggered back a step.
"Who the hell sent you? You're not clever enough to run a scheme like this one.
Who, damn you?" Con grabbed Digger by the throat. Ban kept his pistol leveled at him.
"Sykes' brother, Declan," Ban said, not bothering to flinch at the sound of a pistol shot down the quay.
Bess's slow steps echoed as she and Fam returned to the warehouse.
"They'll be discovering his body behind The Angel right about now I should think.
" Digger's eyes widened in disbelief. His chest began to heave as if he could not catch his breath.
Ban leaned in close to the man still caught in Con's iron grip.
"Before you and Declan fuck a whore you should really ask her if I've fucked her first before you go telling her your secrets.
Especially since I pay better and fuck better. "
"How long, Ban? How long have you known about Declan's plan?" Con asked as he released the lying coward they'd trusted. Digger stumbled back and rubbed his throat.
"Long enough. What do you want to do with this one?" Ban waved his pistol at Digger. He'd heard the frustration in his brother's voice. Con wasn't happy about any of this, but he was alive and that was all that mattered to Ban.
"There's a mess in the warehouse we need to get shed of before morning," Warrick announced as he strolled toward them, his axe on his shoulder. The normally shining blade was stained black in the moonlight.
"Here's your knife," Fam said, as he drew Bess closer to Ban and handed him the weapon. "No mess down there. He's in the Thames. Did I hear Declan Sykes' name mentioned. Fuck me, is that you, Digger? What the bloody hell is going on here?"
"Our brother found out about a plot to murder us and decided to take care of things all on his own." Con mounted his horse and shifted in his saddle. "And Digger here is our traitor."
"You sniveling rat." Fam kicked Digger in the chin, and he went down like a sack of flour. Fam shot him in the head without so much as a flinch. Ban lowered his pistol and put the hammer back in place.
"What the fucking hell do you think you were doing, Ban?" Con turned and punched him in the shoulder. "Six to one? You could have been killed, you damned fool."
"I took out three before you got here. And you're welcome. I could have taken out the other three and been home before breakfast if you hadn't ridden in here early." He tucked his pistol into the crossed holder on his chest and bent over to retrieve the other one.
"Bollocks," Con snapped. "Any one of them could have taken you down and then done for the rest of us. What is it going to take for you to stop treating your life like a three-penny whore?" His voice echoed in the silence of the quiet dockside. He shook his head in disgust.
Ban didn't know what to say. He glanced at Warrick who had mounted his horse, and pretended to be occupied with the reins.
Fam busied himself tucking his pistol into his jacket.
He hated the way they treated him, as if he were a child instead of a seventeen-year-old man.
The people of the rookeries treated him with more respect than his brothers.
He whistled for his horse. The tall, black gelding came from the far side of the warehouse and stopped for Ban to climb into the saddle.
"We're for Hampstead Heath," Con said and turned his horse toward the narrow lane that led onto Wapping Street.
"We'll spend the night at the Spaniard's Head.
The landlord will swear we were there all night.
" Con's reach had extended quite a bit in the last ten years.
When the bodies started showing up there was always an obliging tavern keeper or other upstanding citizen who would vouch for them out of either fear or obligation.
There were whispers of them now, whispers that carried as far as Fleet Street and Monmouth Street where the news sheets had begun to repeat the name the people of the rookeries had given them.
The Four Horsemen, they were called, lords of the Apocalypse, each reigning over a force destined to bring the world to an end.
His brothers didn't understand. Ban had seen the end of the world, and he wasn't afraid.
He never would be. There was nothing life could take from him now, save his brothers.
Nothing else mattered and likely never would.