“M’lord,” Deedle wheezed beside him. “Who the ’ell is that?”
And Griffin looked over his shoulder and realized that a second group of men blocked the other end of the alley, marching in line, coming toward them. Behind them were men on horseback.
“Soldiers.” He spat blood into the dust at his feet. “The Duke of Wakefield is coming to arrest me if I’m not mistaken.”
“Dear God in heaven,” Deedle muttered. “We’re dead, m’lord. Dead!”
And Griffin threw back his head and laughed. The sound echoed off the filthy brick walls that enclosed the alley he was about to die in.
SILENCE HURRIED HOME, through the darkened streets of St. Giles.
She’d meant to take only a quick trip to visit one of the home’s wet nurses and her tiny charge. But the moment she’d entered the woman’s apartment, she’d immediately caught the astringent scent of gin. That had led to recriminations, protests, and a rather awful scene before she’d finally walked out with the orphaned infant. No matter how sorry she might feel for the wet nurse—a widow with a child of her own—Silence couldn’t risk the well-being of such a tiny baby. The nursling was only a month or so old—a fragile age for a baby.
She’d known of another possible wet nurse for the baby, but the second woman lived nearly a mile away from the first, and in the opposite direction of the home. She’d hurried there as fast as she could walk with the babe in her arms. And in the end, Silence had been very satisfied with the placement. The new wet nurse, Polly, had been employed in the past by the home and had always given satisfactory service. Although her own children were now weaned, Polly assured Silence that she had enough milk for the orphaned infant.
A good day’s work, but an exhausting one, and the reason she was now caught out after dark.
Silence pulled her light woolen cloak more securely about her shoulders and eyed a dark doorway as she passed it. She was trying very hard not to think of some of the awful tales she heard from Nell—an inveterate teller of horror stories. The woman who’d been strangled by a lover. The woman who’d been dragged into an alley and savagely attacked by three drunken men. The woman who had gone out to buy a meat pie for her four children and simply disappeared, her shoe found the next day in an alley.
Silence shivered. All of Nell’s stories had two common elements: They were all about women out alone.
And they all took place after dark.
A cry came from up ahead, and Silence’s steps faltered. She was in a wide street, but there were no cross streets nearby. Only a single flickering lantern hung over a tiny cobbler’s shop. Voices could be heard and lights, growing stronger, coming nearer.
Silence looked about desperately. A man shouted an angry curse. Then a crowd came tearing around the corner of the street up ahead. There were men holding torches, but also women. They milled and shouted, and in the middle was some kind of wretched thing that they were dragging by a collar.
Someone smashed a window and Silence flinched. She was already backing away, turning to hurry up the street she’d just walked down. But that direction was away from the home. She looked over her shoulder as two men dragged the wretch they’d caught to the middle of the street and began beating him with cudgels.
“ ’Ave mercy!” she heard their victim cry.
There were more curses and amid them a single hoarse shout she could make out: “Informer!”
Dear Lord, they were lynching a gin informer.
Doors opened up ahead, but when she looked there hopefully, more people came out and ran toward the horrible scene behind her. The street was suddenly filled with shouting madmen. Someone jostled her and Silence tripped. She fell against a house wall, pressing herself back.
A drunken man loomed in front of her, hands twitching, ugly mouth leering. Without a word, he snatched the hood from her head, pulling her hair painfully as he did so. Behind him, flames shot up to the sky, framing his black face with orange. What in God’s name were they doing to the poor informer?
But she had worse to think about right in front of her. The ugly man leaned over her menacingly.
Silence darted to the right and for a split second felt a rush of welcome relief because she thought she was free.
Then a heavy hand caught her by the hair, and she knew the night was about to become a nightmare.
Chapter Nineteen
The queen tossed and turned that night on her royal bed, but in the morning she had come to a decision. She dressed with care, wearing her best cloth of gold gown and a diamond and ruby crown. Then she strode into the throne room to meet her suitors. The princes had dressed in their best as well. Prince Eastsun shone in robes of gold and silver, Prince Westmoon wore a doublet sewn with emeralds, and Prince Northwind was fairly encrusted with pearls. All three men stood tall and handsome, perfectly perfect in their splendor.
“Have you made your decision?” Prince Eastsun asked.
Queen Ravenhair tilted her chin. “Yes….”
—from Queen Ravenhair
The first wave of attackers hit like a battering ram. They didn’t seem to have pistols, but they were armed with cudgels, and a few bore swords. Griffin fired his last shot from his remaining pistol, taking down the man leading the charge.
Griffin drew his sword. “For Nick Barnes!”
A shot came from behind him, and then the Vicar’s men from one end and the soldiers from the other converged, and he and Deedle were in the middle of a melee. Griffin swung his sword with one hand, nearly severing a man’s arm. The man howled and fell and was trampled by a horse.
For a moment, through the mass of heaving men, Griffin saw a face—or what might be a face in a nightmare. The man’s flesh looked as if it had turned to wax and melted down the side of his skull before hardening in a grotesque parody of facial features. Griffin blinked and the vision was gone.
Griffin punched another man and was shoved hard in return. Someone swung a cudgel at him, and he took the blow on his left shoulder, his entire arm going numb. He shook his head, trying to clear a trickle of blood from his eyes. He didn’t even remember the wound from which it came. He expected at any moment to be shot or impaled from behind but didn’t bother looking.
Death would find him soon enough.