Chapter 4 #2
Peregrine hesitated as the echo of thudding steps reverberated in the tunnel.
“Go!”
The exhortation sent him scrambling up into the spindly framework of studs and joists.
“Hurry,” added Raven, as a figure barreled out of the tunnel. He waited a moment longer before climbing up into the scaffolding and beginning to shimmy along a horizontal strut. The three of them were well out of arm’s reach, and the crisscrossing lumber made a pistol shot difficult. With luck …
A thunderous crack filled the air as the strut’s nails broke loose from the stud up ahead, and suddenly Raven was plummeting headfirst toward the ground.
Whomph.
The descent ended with a teeth-rattling jolt. Half-stunned and hanging upside-down, Raven twisted and saw the laces of his boot had snagged on an iron hook jutting out from one of the main posts.
He tried kicking free, but with no success.
From his position up ahead in the shadows, Peregrine hissed a warning to stay still. One of the Horse Guards officers—the other two appeared to have taken different routes—was fast approaching. If the fellow looked up …
“Well, well—the little rat is caught in a trap of his own making.” The officer raised his pistol but then slowly returned it to the holster slung from his belt and instead drew a knife from his boot. “How fortunate for me.”
He reached up and was just able to tickle the point against Raven’s forehead. “Because now I’ll have a chance to extract some answers from you about what you were doing on Threadneedle Street before I put a period to your miserable existence.”
Raven maintained a stoic silence in the face of the taunt.
“Start talking, rat, and I’ll make your death painless.”
Still no response.
The officer expelled a mocking sigh as he regarded his knife blade. “Hmmm, choices, choices—shall I start with plucking out an eyeball or slicing off a finger?”
Wrexford watched the flames lick up from the chunks of coal burning in the hearth. The flickering hues—reds, oranges, yellows—all had a perfectly logical scientific explanation, but at the moment he was focused on the fire’s simple beauty.
It would be nice if occasionally Life could imitate the current serenity of this workroom for more than a fleeting interlude.
Looking back down at the half-written letter on his blotter, the earl dipped his pen in the inkwell and scribbled out the last part of his message before folding the paper and sealing it with his signet ring.
“Couldn’t writing a note to Griffin have waited until morning?” Charlotte glanced at the mantle clock before entering the room.
“I wasn’t quite ready to retire,” replied Wrexford.
She circled around to the back of his chair and after placing her palms on his shoulders leaned down to brush a kiss to the top of his head. “Tyler needs to give your hair a trim. It’s getting unruly.”
A sigh. “The length of my hair is the least of my concerns.”
“I’m sorry about us having to instigate a murder investigation. But we could hardly refuse.”
“Of course not,” he agreed. “If anyone can solve the crime, it’s Griffin.
However, he can’t conjure evidence out of thin air, so I fear Hawk will be disappointed.
” A pause. “The suggestion of a gravestone was a lovely one. It was fortunate that Baz knew Campbell and thought to ask for the body so that he could arrange a proper burial.”
Charlotte didn’t answer right away. She moved to the hearth and picked up the poker to shift the coals. “I may be wrong, but I sensed that Baz wasn’t entirely forthcoming about his acquaintance with Campbell.”
“He’s … complicated.”
“An understatement,” she observed.
“He has always been guarded. I daresay there’s a great deal he’s kept hidden from me over the years.” The earl tapped his fingertips together. “As he said, we all have private things we’d rather not share. I see no need to press him about it.” He pursed his lips. “Do you?”
She shook her head. “It was merely an observation.” A pause. “Speaking of which, did you and Eddy butt heads during your afternoon ride? You looked a little green around the gills when you returned, but I haven’t had a chance to ask until now.”
An odd sound rumbled in Wrexford’s throat—something between a laugh and a groan. “Having had no sisters, I feel utterly at a loss as to how to counsel a girl who is already growing all too fast into a young lady.”
“She reminds me of myself at her age.” Charlotte gave a shudder that was not entirely meant as a jest. “And that’s truly a terrifying thought.
” Seeing the earl’s face fall, she quickly added, “Alison is a fount of wisdom on the perils and pitfalls a young lady faces as she begins her journey into the world of Polite Society. Together, we shall all manage to muddle through it.”
“From your lips to the Almighty’s ear,” he replied.
“Enough brooding for now, Wrex.” She smiled. “Come up to bed.”
In response to the gruesome question, Raven swooshed the saliva around in his mouth, and then spat out a glob that struck his captor smack on the cheek.
His face darkening with fury, the officer snarled a vicious oath and wiped away the spittle with a swipe of his sleeve. “For that, I’m going to slice open your belly and pull out your guts inch by inch.” Moonlight glittered off the sharpened steel as he raised his knife …
A rush of footsteps—followed a half second later by an ominous crack of metal against bone. With a shriek of pain, the officer crumpled to the ground, thrashing in agony as he clutched at his injured femur.
“My leg,” he moaned. “I think my bloody leg is broken.”
Hawk danced back, the iron crowbar fisted in both hands, ready to strike again if need be.
In the next instant, Peregrine darted in and plucked the pistol from the officer’s holster before hopping out of reach.
“Shut yer gob,” he ordered, taking dead aim at the officer’s chest. “Make anudder peep an’ yer a dead man.”
The officer eyed the two wild-eyed Weasels with their weapons and wisely clenched his teeth, swallowing any further sounds.
Peregrine gave a wordless signal for Hawk to climb up and free Raven from the hook.
They were both back on the ground within a minute.
“Give me the pistol—and that’s an order,” whispered Raven. “If the trigger has to be pulled, it can’t be you who does it.”
Before Peregrine could protest, he added, “We don’t have time to argue.” After accepting the weapon, he cocked the hammer. “Off you go! I’ll follow once you have a head start.”
The injured officer watched with a murderous stare as Raven slowly retreated, keeping the pistol pointed at his heart, but it was clear that he was in no condition to pursue them.
“Don’t think that you and your fellow alley rats will escape retribution,” he said.
“Wot’s retty-bewshun,” drawled Raven.
A nasty laugh. “It means your entrails will soon be feeding the fish in the River Thames.”
“Yeah?” A grin. “Well, first ye’ll have te nab us.” With that, he turned and ran to catch up with the others.
A deep-throated howl for help rose up from the courtyard as the Weasels reached the top of the market wall and one by one jumped across the gap and onto the warehouse roof.
“Keep going,” urged Raven as Hawk slowed to look back over his shoulder. “His fellow officers will likely come to his aid, so we should be out of danger. But I’d rather not pause for breath until we lose ourselves in the stews.”
Heads down, they hurried to where the rain pipes offered handholds for descending to the street. The cries had stopped, and Raven was quick to hustle them into the labyrinth of nameless footpaths that never appeared on any official map of the city.
He finally came to a halt when they reached a cobbled circle where five paths intersected. Set in its center was an ancient water pump that serviced the surrounding rookeries.
“I don’t think it was merely by chance that those soldiers spotted us and suspected that we were up to no good,” he announced, once the three of them had plopped down on the stone base of the pump to rest their legs. “My sense is they were there for a reason.”
“To recover the object that Toad snitched from the murderer’s pocket?” asked Hawk.
“The officer was frothing at the mouth to interrogate me as to what we were doing on Threadneedle Street,” replied Raven. “Though it’s puzzling as to why members of an elite regiment like the Horse Guards—”
“But that’s just it—they’re not officers from the Horse Guards,” interrupted Peregrine.
Hawk frowned in confusion. “But like you, I recognized the uniforms! The tunics worn by the Blues are very distinctive.”
“At first glance, they appeared authentic, but while you were freeing Raven, I had a chance to look more carefully.” Peregrine drew in a measured breath.
“As I said earlier, my uncle worked closely with officers of the Royal Horse Guards while he was developing advanced weaponry for the military. I saw them quite often, which is why I noticed that the piping on our assailant’s tunic was the wrong color—it was red, not yellow— and the regimental crest was on the right shoulder, not the left shoulder.
Which means they are the old uniforms from at least ten years ago. ”
“You’re sure of this?” demanded Raven.
“Hawk isn’t the only one who notices artistic details. I swear, I’m not mistaken.”
“Shite,” muttered Raven, this time swearing in English instead of French.
“Oiy,” agreed Peregrine with a sigh. “And it seems that we’ve inadvertently stumbled into a steaming pile of it.”