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They left the tavern and made their way through streets bisected with open gutters, the stench of dead
animals and rotting garbage hanging thick in the air. The decaying buildings leaned against each other as if
in exhaustion, groaning with every strong wind that blew against them. There were no signs to identify
streets, nor were there numbers on houses or buildings. A stranger to the area could easily become lost
and quickly find himself robbed, carved up and left for dead in some dark yard or alley. The poverty of
the slum inhabitants was unimaginable, and their only escape was the temporary one to be found in a gin
shop. In fact, there was a gin shop on nearly every street.
It bothered Nick to see the wretchedness of the people around him, the skeletal children, the degraded
women and desperate men. The only healthy creatures to be found were the rats and mice that scuttled
across the street. Until now, Nick had accepted all of this as an inevitable part of life. For the first time,
he wondered what could be done for these people. Good God, they needed so much that it nearly
overwhelmed him. He remembered what Lottie had said to him only a few days earlier&  There must be
some issue that concerns you, she had said. Something you want to fight for&  Now that he d had time
to consider it, he had to admit that she was right. As Lord Sydney, he could accomplish far more than he
ever had as Nick Gentry.
Shoving his hands in his pockets, Nick glanced cautiously at Sayer, who was clearly thinking of nothing
more than finding Dick Follard. Just as he should be. No distractions, Nick warned himself, even as
another voice filtered through his mind.
 There comes a time when a man has tweaked the devil s nose once too often, Morgan had told him.
 And if he s too stubborn or slow-witted to realize it, he ll pay with his own blood. I knew when to stop.
And so must you& 
It was indeed time to stop, although Nick hadn t known it until this moment. After helping Sayer with this
one task, Nick would finally let go of his identity as a runner and reinvent himself once more. This time as
Lord Sydney& a man with a wife, a home, perhaps even children someday.
The idea of seeing Lottie pregnant with his child caused a sweet pang in his chest. Finally he was
beginning to understand why Sir Ross had found it so easy to resign from the magistracy when he d
married, and why Morgan valued his family above all else.
 Gentry, Sayer muttered.  Gentry?
Lost in his thoughts, Nick did not notice until Sayer spoke once more.
 Sydney!
Nick gave him an inquiring glance.  Yes?
Sayer was frowning.  Keep your wits about you. You seem a bit distracted.
 I m fine, Nick said curtly, realizing that he had indeed been preoccupied. In this place, that could be a
fatal mistake.
They ventured into the slum district, and Nick assessed the area with a critical glance, trying to
remember what he knew of the warren of alleys, tunnels, and crossways between buildings. He passed a
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hand lightly over his chest, checking the reassuring weight of an iron-filled leather cudgel in his coat
pocket.
 Let s start with the buildings on the north side of the street, Nick said.  We ll work our way to the
corner.
Sayer nodded, his body tensing visibly as he prepared for action.
They searched the buildings methodically, pausing briefly to ask questions of those who seemed likely to
know something. The rooms and burrows were badly lit, not to mention crowded and fetid. Nick and
Sayer met with no resistance, although they were the focus of many suspicious and hostile stares.
In a workshop near the end of the street ostensibly a buckle-maker s shop, but in reality a harbor for
coiners and forgerers Nick saw the betraying flicker in a scrawny old man s eyes when he heard the
mention of Follard s name. While Sayer checked through the shop, Nick approached the man with an
inquiring gaze.
 Do you know anything about Follard? Nick asked gently, fingering the edge of his own left sleeve with
his opposite hand, in a signal well-known to those in the London rookeries. The subtle gesture was a
promise of payment for valid information.
The man s paper-thin lids lowered over his yellowed eyes as he considered the offer.  I might.
Nick crossed his palm with a few coins, and the old man s wrinkled fingers closed over the money.
 Can you tell me where I may find him?
 Ye might try the gin shop on Melancholy Lane.
Nodding in thanks, Nick glanced at Sayer and indicated with a swerve of his gaze that it was time to
leave.
Once outside, they headed swiftly to Melancholy Lane, just two streets over from Hanging Ax Alley. As
with most gin shops near Fleet Ditch, the place was heavily packed long before noon, with drunken
patrons sitting on the ground in a stupor. After conferring briefly, Nick went to the entrance of the shop,
while Sayer circled the dilapidated building to find the exit in back.
As soon as Nick entered the shop, a few ugly rumbles went through the crowd inside. It was an
unfortunate fact that a runner s height and size made it nearly impossible for him to blend in with a crowd.
It was even more unfortunate that Nick had made countless enemies in the underworld once he had given
evidence against his criminal associates and went to serve at Bow Street. That hadn t exactly increased
his popularity in Fleet Ditch. Ignoring the threatening murmurs, Nick glanced over the crowd with
narrowed eyes.
Suddenly he saw the face he had been looking for. Through his travels from one continent to another,
Dick Follard hadn t changed one whit, his ratlike face surmounted with the same shock of oily black hair,
his sharp teeth giving his mouth a serrated appearance. Their gazes met in a moment of icy, electric
challenge.
Follard was gone in an instant, slipping through the crowd with the ease of a rodent as he headed to the
back of the shop. Nick shoved past the mass of bodies in his way, plowing through them with blind
determination. By the time he reached the alley, Follard had disappeared into a complex network of
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fences, walls, and side streets. Sayer was nowhere to be seen.
 Sayer! Nick shouted.  Where the hell are you?
 Over here, came the runner s hoarse cry, and Nick spun around to see him climbing a six-foot-high
fence in pursuit of Follard.
Following swiftly, Nick clambered over the fence, dropped to the ground, and ran full tilt down a dark
alley shadowed by the overhanging eaves of the buildings on either side. The alley came to an abrupt end,
and Nick skidded to a halt as he saw Sayer staring upward. Follard was scaling the deteriorated outside
wall of an ancient three-story warehouse, resembling an insect as he sought fingerholds in the broken
brick surface. After ascending two stories, he finally managed to reach a hole large enough for him to
scuttle into. His bony frame disappeared inside the warehouse.
Sayer swore in disgust.  We ve lost him, he said flatly.  There s no way in hell that I would try that.
Surveying the wall appraisingly, Nick approached it with a few running strides, launching himself upward.
He took the same path Follard had, digging his hands and the toes of his boots into the crumbling holes in
the wall, using them to gain purchase. Panting with effort, he climbed after the vanished fugitive.
 Goddamn, Gentry! he heard Sayer exclaim approvingly.  I ll find some other way to get inside.
Nick continued to scale the wall until he crawled into the gaping second-story opening. Once inside, he
went still and listened intently. He heard the sound of footfalls above. His gaze shot to a ladder that led to [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]