Chapter Twenty-Four

They slipped out of the brothel without a word to its mistress; better that she remained ignorant of the direction they walked, lest her tongue be persuaded to wag by the temptation of another’s coin.

It was past noon now and the morning’s sun had been replaced by a heavy, dark sky. More snow perhaps, later. The air was raw. It cut through Zach’s coat like a whetted blade and he knew Amelia must be sliced to the bone by it. He’d taken the blanket from the bed and she wore that about her head and shoulders, clasped tight by white fingers beneath her chin. It was hardly enough against the December frost.

They walked in silence, mostly because she had no breath for talking. He kept the pace fast and she limped along gamely at his side, no word of complaint passing her lips. Whether it was pride or strength that kept her on her feet he didn’t know, but at least the exercise would keep her from freezing. And his concern for her kept him from thinking about the streets and alleyways through which they fled.

Twenty years on, the place seemed little different, only more crowded than ever. More starving, hollow faces peered out from the dark, more miserable wretches crammed into this human abyss. The wharfs were fit to bursting, with ships waiting weeks for a berth and the shore littered with unloaded goods, just begging to be pilfered by the Scuffle Hunters and other longshore thieves. More pirates in the Port of London, he thought, than ever sailed the Spanish Main. And yet we’re the ones they chased to Hell.

‘Oi! You, sir!’

The voice was distant, but Zach was taking no chances and dodged quickly down an alley to his left. Amelia, though, didn’t notice his move and continued straight ahead until he reached out and snatched her hand, tugging her into the gloom. Her fingers curled tight about his and didn’t let go as he drew her further down the overhung passageway.

‘Where are we going?’ Amelia wrinkled her nose at the stench; the place was putrid with death.

‘Short cut.’ He hurried her along as fast as her lame leg would allow. ‘Didn’t you hear someone shout?’

She shook her head, lips tight.

‘Nothing to do with us, most likely. We’ll be at the river soon.’

Ahead, a misshapen lump blocked the alley. Zach tried not to look too closely as they approached.

‘I thought you said we couldn’t get away by ship?’

‘We can’t. Port’s thick with Revenue men, and worse. They’ll be checking every ship that’s leaving.’

‘Then why are we heading to the river?’

Zach slowed, his hold on her hand tightening. ‘To pay a debt, before we leave. Hush now, wait.’

The lumpy shape that sprawled across the alley was, as he’d suspected, a man. ‘You there,’ Zach said, keeping his distance. ‘What’s your name?’

There was no answer and none likely. The stench was worse and Zach guessed the man had been dead some days. Suddenly there was a scrabble of movement and a small figure detached itself from the corpse, tearing away down the alley.

Amelia gasped. ‘What …?’

‘It’s all right, just a scavenger. The dead are always worth robbing when you’re too small to thieve from the living.’

She made no answer, though he could feel her gaze boring into his back. After a moment she said, ‘I hope the poor man didn’t die of some pestilence.’

‘Foot pad, more than likely. He’s too fat to live hereabouts. A merchant, perhaps. Even so …’ He turned and plucked the blanket from her fingers, wrapping it across her mouth and nose. ‘Just in case.’

He did the same with his muffler and together they stepped over the decomposing corpse, giving it a wide berth. Zach didn’t look at the face; he’d never looked at their faces.

A little later, they emerged into the relatively fresh air of the riverside. That is, the stench of death was replaced by the stench of the river at low tide, which was just what he wanted.

He found the lad down on the flats, digging in the mud with the rest of them, and called him over with a whistle. It was risky to draw so much attention, but he’d made the boy a promise and intended to keep it.

Amelia was watching him with unveiled curiosity as he pulled a purse from his coat and began distributing coins to the urchins crowding around him. ‘For services rendered,’ he said, meeting her eye over the boys’ heads. ‘In service to their queen.’

‘And a handsome reward.’ The slight rise of her eyebrows told him she approved of his generosity.

‘Little enough to see them through the winter,’ he said, as the last of them disappeared into the crowds, eager to spend their small fortune on watered gin and chalky bread. Haunted, he turned away and found himself captured by Amelia’s earnest gaze. In that moment, it seemed that a connection was made, or perhaps renewed, between them, and he heard himself whisper, ‘God’s mercy, Amelia, but there’s nowhere in the world so miserable as this cursed city.’

She drew closer, her cold fingers finding his again. ‘When we rebuild Ile Sainte Anne there will be somewhere for these people to go, Zach. A haven. The poor shall wear the crown.’

‘Rebuild?’ He tightened his hold on her hand and began to walk, heading west along the river. ‘Is that your intention then?’

‘Of course. They will never win while the Articles are alive in our hearts. Your father taught me that, Zach. And he died believing it.’

‘Then they will come again. And again and again, until there are none left to remember the bloody Articles.’

She was silent a while and her grip on his hand slackened. ‘What are you saying, Zach? That we should just give up?’

He sighed. ‘You always were a stubborn bloody wench, Amelia Dauphin.’

‘I’ll never give up. Never.’

‘Not until they hang you.’

A soft sound reached his ear – her laugh. Her blessed, childish giggle, which he’d never allowed himself to miss until that very moment, when the sound cut a path from the pit of his belly to his heart, flipping it right over. ‘I’ll never hang,’ she laughed, ‘for I have Zach Hazard to save me, do I not?’

‘It’s Captain Zach Hazard to you. And I am, as you know, a notoriously unreliable brigand. Best to put your faith elsewhere.’ He glanced at her once, seeking the truth in her eyes. ‘With your very reliable husband.’

For an instant, she met his gaze, then looked down at the muddy street. ‘Yes,’ she said, her laughter fading. ‘Of course, with Luc.’

After that they spoke no more, cutting back and forward from the river’s edge as they walked, avoiding the crowds. There were soldiers in the streets and about the wharfs and the resultant serpentine nature of their route meant that, by the time the sun surrendered to the midwinter dusk, they were still north of the river. Darkness, however, would serve them well in crossing the bridge. If the soldiers had half a mind between them they’d be guarding each end, yet the haphazard collision of decrepit old shops and houses that lined London Bridge provided many a hole down which a clever rat could slip unnoticed.

For those London rats that knew it well, the journey was simple – if costly and awkward. For the right price here and there, Zach was able to lead Amelia from cellar to cellar, out onto the great sterlings on which the bridge was built, passing beneath the very feet of the soldiers standing guard. Then up a flight of stairs to the attic of one old house, scrambling across the roof that spanned the street and down again, three buildings further on, and out onto the crowded bridge just south of Nonsuch House. It was thick with people, rich and poor. Carriages pushed through the crush with frequent, loud curses from the drivers as they navigated the narrow thoroughfare. Zach kept a tight hold on Amelia’s hand; she’d been silent and flagging for a good hour now. All the climbing had done her in and her limp was increasingly pronounced. She’d need to rest soon, yet they hadn’t travelled half so far as he would have liked. The night watch would be out now, but he was more wary of the red-coated soldiers than of the doddery old men with their whistles and torches. Even so, they needed to leave London, and leave it tonight.

‘Zach?’ Amelia sounded strained, watching him from a milky face.

‘A little further,’ he said, drawing her closer to a shop window and out of the stream of traffic. ‘Can you make it?’

She shook her head. ‘I feel faint. It hurts …’

‘Not here,’ he said, slipping an arm about her waist just in case. ‘Too much attention. The soldiers are only a few yards away.’

But her head was lolling, her face turning from milk to snow. ‘I can’t hear …’

‘Shhh.’ He drew her hard against him, pressing her head against his shoulder as he cast about for somewhere to take her. The South Tower, where her father’s treacherous head may well have been spiked, was crawling with redcoats, weapons over their shoulders, scanning passers-by; if he had to carry her, they’d be spotted instantly and he’d be unable to run. ‘Stay awake,’ he hissed, feeling her knees start to buckle.

Across the road there was a coffee shop. He didn’t know it, but it would have to do. Half-hauling her, he crossed the street and ducked out of sight. It was busy inside, a crush of people, and they were met by a wave of moist heat and chatter. Wasting no time, Zach grabbed the sleeve of the first serving girl he saw. ‘My wife has been taken ill,’ he said. ‘I need a place for her to rest. Have you somewhere?’

The girl glanced at Amelia. ‘I’d ’av to ask Mr Albert, sir.’

‘Then ask. There’s a half crown in it for you if he says yes.’

She bobbed a quick curtsy and scurried away through the crowd. A few moments later a harassed-looking man pushed towards them, ruddy-faced and with retreating hair streaking his balding head. He eyed Amelia suspiciously. ‘We’ve no rooms to rent. This ain’t an inn.’

‘Just a few minutes rest. Somewhere to lie down, is all. Here.’ Zach pulled coins from his pocket. ‘For your trouble.’

‘What’s wrong with her?’ the man said, eyeing her more closely than Zach would have liked. ‘I’ll have no fevers here.’

‘No, no,’ Zach assured him with a smile. ‘She’s … ah, with child and can hardly keep a bite down. Faints all over the place.’ He offered the coin again. ‘She’ll be right as rain in half an hour, I swear it.’

Avarice and caution fought a brief war in the man’s eyes, and greed came out the victor. He snatched the coin and said, ‘Follow me, then.’

With Amelia barely able to walk, Zach followed the man up a narrow flight of stairs and into what must have been his own bedroom. ‘No funny business,’ he said, standing aside to let them pass.

Zach lifted an eyebrow. ‘Unlikely.’

As the door closed behind them he lowered Amelia onto the bed. ‘I’m sorry,’ she whispered, eyes closed and lips barely moving.

‘Shh. Rest now, Amy.’ Anxious, he sat down at her side and pondered their next move. Clearly she couldn’t walk further tonight, and yet they must get off the bridge and out of the city. He had coin enough for a hackney cab to the outskirts of Clapham, but that would be a risk – a trail he’d rather not leave – which left the option of either commandeering a wagon or carriage, or stowing away. He glanced down at Amelia; her eyes were closed, her face white beneath the grime and her lips chalky. She would be no help whatsoever, in either endeavour.

Frustrated, and increasingly nervous, he rose and paced to the grimy window that looked out over the bridge. He could just make out the soldiers near the tower, bored now and talking among themselves. Had he been alone, he could have sneaked or charmed his way past them. Of course, had he been alone, he’d not be in half so much danger. Had he been alone, he’d have never returned to his pestilent childhood home in the first place.

His gaze slid back to Amelia, her slight form asleep on the bed, fixing him where he stood as effectively as the heaviest bower anchor.

She left you to die once, and saved herself, whispered a dark corner of his mind. Why not return the favour?

Yet how could he live with himself then? How could he live with her blood on his hands? How could he live anyway, after he’d returned her to Géroux and her precious duties?

The truth was, one way or another, she’d bring him nothing but misery or death. And if that was the choice, then the decision was easy.