Chapter Eleven
Eoin had always preferred the country air to the smells of London, but he’d grown accustomed to the scent of manure from the endless stream of horse-drawn carriages.
And even in the nicer sections like Mayfair, odors lingered in the air from the refuse of city living.
But this particular area of Covent Garden possessed a uniquely terrible stench.
Sourness mingled with desperation, and the tight weave of buildings trapped the oppressive atmosphere, distilling it into a potent brew of discontent.
Or perhaps it only felt that way to Eoin, and the alley was really no different than any other cobblestoned close lined with disreputable businesses.
Eoin had little occasion to visit unsavory establishments, and moreover, he had no personal ties to those grim passageways.
Yet at the end of this dark, twisty corridor, his parents had met, and after his father’s death, his mother and his sister had likely been forced to live on a similar sordid street.
Don’t go chasing after spirits and secrets. Those hoarse, foreboding words whispered through Eoin, and he couldn’t suppress the shiver that racked him.
“It will do no good to think about that beggar’s cryptic words.
If we have any hope of learning the Horse and Hen’s secrets, we must keep all our wits about us.
” Hannah gently bumped Eoin’s arm with her fist, and he suspected that she would have linked elbows with him if she wasn’t dressed as a lad.
It amazed him how quickly she’d deduced the reason for his shudder.
“Wits! Wits! Wits!” Pan cried from Hannah’s shoulder. She’d insisted on bringing the noisy pet in case they required a distraction. Even the levelheaded Sophia had recommended taking along the bird.
Ignoring the grating cries, Eoin jerked his head in assent to Hannah’s advice.
He couldn’t think of his mother and his sister as ghosts or even as shadowy figures from his own faint memories.
No. He had to retain the hope that he would meet them and offer whatever assistance they needed.
He could never change what they had endured, but he could improve their futures.
If they were alive…
This time when they passed the bawdy houses, Eoin made sure to stay to the center and keep his head down.
It wasn’t as if Hannah, dressed as a lad, could save him as easily as she had last time—and he had little faith in a parrot flying to the rescue despite Hannah’s and Sophia’s assurances of the feathered creature’s skills.
Eoin glanced surreptitiously toward the set of stairs leading to the Horse and Hen’s cellar entrance.
Sure enough, a large man loitered at the bottom, his gaze flicking not-so-subtly over every passerby.
Short of storming the door, it didn’t appear as if they could manage to get inside.
Hannah had been right to suggest that they once again try their luck on the main floor and hope that their current disguises and ripped, soiled clothing made them look like regular patrons.
Eoin shifted his gaze away from the fellow. Hunching his shoulders, he slunk forward. How he wished he could compress his body into a normal size and blend in. With any luck, people would be more focused on the lime-green bird perched on Hannah’s shoulder.
“Oi!” The deep voice boomed down the alleyway, echoing off the cracking plaster of the half-timbered buildings.
Eoin’s muscles tightened, and he sorely wished he’d learned how to use his considerable bulk to defend himself. Luckily, he was a handy enough shot, and he’d hidden a pistol under his workman’s clothing.
“You! There! You’re late!”
Eoin whirled around to find the burly fellow waving him over to the cellar steps of the Horse and Hen. Eoin started to glance around to confirm, but Hannah tugged his sleeve.
“This is our chance,” Hannah whispered softly so only he could hear. “Just play along.”
Eoin started cautiously walking forward, but Hannah poked him gently in the ribs. “Swagger. Look confident. You must appear tough. Live up to those bruises.”
Eoin tried his best to strut. He even clenched his fists in order to swell his biceps. Unfortunately, he felt utterly ridiculous and not the least bit intimidating. He half expected the guard to burst into guffaws.
He didn’t. Instead, the sentry’s light brown eyes flicked assessingly over Eoin. Then he glanced over at Hannah, his gaze dismissive. “Who are you? The young lads are almost done. And why the bird?”
“The youth’s with me,” Eoin said gruffly, immediately sensing that this brute wouldn’t pay Hannah much mind. He didn’t want a squabble to erupt when they were so close to their goal.
“And the parrot? A good luck charm?” The left corner of the man’s lips turned up into a sneer.
“Yes,” Eoin said with more confidence than he had. He could tell that the man found Pan’s presence absurd, but then, so did Eoin. He couldn’t think of a legitimate reason to drag a talking bird into whatever situation they were about to encounter.
“Balderdash. You either have skilled fists or you don’t.”
What the blazes did fists have to do with anything? Hopelessly confused, Eoin grunted. Beside him, Hannah shifted. She clearly wanted to speak, but she must have thought better. She didn’t even huff out an annoyed sigh.
“Argh. I suppose it doesn’t matter much to me,” the sentinel ground out. “Just bring the bloody creature. There’s no rule against it, although Ursus might not be so welcoming.”
Ursus? The Latin word for bear? That was an unusual name, especially in a derelict alley. Did thieves employ nicknames from dead languages?
The sentry chortled as if he’d made a grand joke. Eoin simply grunted again, and Hannah remained silent.
Still chuckling darkly, the fellow opened a surprisingly thick door, which seemed more suited to a castle’s keep than the entrance to a tumbledown cellar. The metal hinges groaned, only adding to a faint sense of doom.
Eoin stiffened his shoulders as he ducked under the low-slung doorframe. He wasn’t typically a fanciful man. Screeching metal shouldn’t send shivers skittering along his spine, but it did.
“Something’s wrong.” Hannah spoke in a low tone as she followed him.
Eoin nodded as he reached down to touch the handle of his pistol. This time, he was grateful for his bulk. If trouble arose, he could shield Hannah.
The outdoor steps had been stone, but those beyond the door were wooden.
The oak creaked beneath Eoin’s feet as the scent of stale ale and body odor wafted through the air.
Another scent tickled Eoin’s nose—a metallic one.
Eoin didn’t recognize it, but his body did.
The hairs on his arms rose, and his heart pounded.
“Blood.” The ominous word hung in the air as soon as Hannah spoke it. Eoin’s nerves weren’t helped when the guard shut the door behind them, plunging them into darkness. The thud of the wooden bar echoed down the gloomy, rickety staircase.
They were locked inside with only their firearms and a foul-mouthed parrot for defense. Shouts and jeers arose from the darkness below. A crowd—and a barbaric one by the sound of it—was gathered.
Panic shredded Eoin’s gut, but he forced back the fear. If ever his levelheadedness was imperative, it was at this very moment.
“Did you say blood?” Eoin asked, hoping that he’d heard incorrectly, even as more ferocious cries surrounded them.
“Unfortunately, yes. Don’t you recognize the scent?” Hannah asked as though the smell of gore were a common perfume like rose water.
“No.” Eoin gripped the roughly hewn railing and ignored the splinters digging into his flesh. Cautiously, he dipped his foot to find the next uneven step. Once he’d found purchase, he continued, “I haven’t had the occasion to be around blood.”
“Not even during a boyhood brawl?”
“Books tend not to punch,” Eoin said wryly, even as he hated to admit, once again, how sheltered and lonely his existence had been.
“I suppose not,” Hannah said with a gentle laugh that contained amusement at his turn of phrase. “But if they did, I am not sure if pugilistic tomes would make learning more or less appealing. Studying would definitely become a more physical endeavor.”
Eoin’s eyes had finally begun to adjust, and he realized that they were not surrounded by pitch blackness after all. At the bottom of the stairs, he could spy a faint, golden flicker—torchlight perhaps.
“There’s a glow ahead,” Eoin said as he heard more enthusiastic yells. Before he could continue descending, Hannah pressed against his back and peered over his shoulder. Instantly, a flush suffused Eoin, followed by those peculiar sparks of energy that only Hannah could elicit.
“Do you think they purposely made the staircase as deadly as possible?” Hannah asked. “They’re exactly the kind that a villain in a play would push a victim down.”
Despite the circumstances, a small huff of laughter escaped Eoin. Hannah had a remarkable way of making him feel lighter. “That is very apt.”
A new roar rumbled toward them, and Eoin swore he felt the vibrations in his heart. He faltered, and Hannah bumped into him.
“That—that sounded like a b-beast.” The quaver in Eoin’s voice would have embarrassed him if he’d been accompanied by anyone but Hannah. Yet even with his blood pumping furiously, he trusted Hannah not to judge him too harshly.
“A bear!” Hannah practically shouted the words in his ear. “That was definitely a bruin. I’ve heard them growl at my friend’s menagerie for rescued animals. Do you think a bearbaiting is happening right now? They’ve become more and more rare.”
“Do you think they conduct a bloodsport like that underground?” Eoin asked as he stared into the torch-lit gloom. Outrage and disgust filled him as he thought about animals being forced to battle for the perverse enjoyment of humans.
“It happens, but I don’t hear dogs barking,” Hannah added, her voice full of anger. “It is despicable. Torturing animals for pleasure.”