When Gods Die

Chapter 28

The extent of the preparations for Sebastian’s reception surprised him. He’d been expecting one man, perhaps two. His questions in the neighborhood had obviously touched a raw nerve. And it occurred to him, as he lowered himself into a crouch, that there was more involved here then the death of one young woman.

He kept a dagger hidden in his boot, its handle cool and smooth against his palm as he slipped it surreptitiously into his hand. He felt no fear. Fear came when one had time to reflect or was helpless to fight back. What he felt now was a heart-pounding flow of energy, a heightening of all senses and skills.

With a speed and competence honed by six years of operating in the mountains of Portugal and Italy, and in the West Indies, Sebastian summed up the danger he faced. He could stay where he was and let the men close on him, forcing him to fight all five at once. Or he could charge one of the two groups of men and try to escape before they joined forces. With three men ahead and only two blocking his return to the lane, the choice was simple.

For the moment, both groups of adversaries seemed content to hold their distance. “Who sent you here?” asked one of the men near the mouth of the alley, a dark-haired man with the thickening waist and heavy jowls of middle age. He held a cudgel, a stout length of wood he tapped threateningly against the palm of his free hand. His redheaded companion—big and broken-nosed and quite sober—had a knife. In the street, earlier, there had been three of them, Sebastian remembered. Which meant that somewhere, one more drover and perhaps a flute player awaited Sebastian.

Licking his lips in a show of nervousness, Sebastian made his voice go high-pitched and quivery. “Squire Lawrence, up in Leicestershire—”

“Uh-uh,” said the man with the cudgel. “Think about this: a man can die quickly or he can die by inches, screaming for mercy and ruing the day he was born. The choice is yours.”

Sebastian gave the man a grim smile. “Oh, Father, oh, Father, go dig me grave,” he said, and hurled himself forward.

He chose the man on his right, the big redhead with the nimble feet and the knife that could kill quicker than a cudgel. Redhead held his ground, his knife low, waiting to absorb Sebastian’s attack. But by switching his dagger to his left hand at the last instant, Sebastian was able to circle his right forearm beneath the big man’s lunging blade, knocking the freckled hand holding the knife up and away long enough to drive his own dagger through the waistcoat and shirt of the drover’s broad chest, deep into the flesh and sinew beneath.

He was close enough that Sebastian could see the pores in the man’s skin, the sheen of nervous sweat on his forehead, smell again the reek of the gin with which he’d doused the coarse wool of his coat. The man let out a whooshing gurgle, blood and spittle spewing from his mouth, his eyes rolling back in his head. Wrenching the blade free, Sebastian swung quickly to face the man with the cudgel.

Not quick enough. A blow meant to dash in the back of Sebastian’s head fell on his shoulder, bruising hard. Pain exploded across his collarbone, reverberated to his left arm. He went down on one knee, a grunt escaping his clenched teeth. A shadow loomed over him. Twisting, Sebastian had a vision of heavy jowls dark with anger, lips peeling back from yellow crooked teeth gritted in determination as the man raised the cudgel to strike again.

Sebastian drove his dagger up, deep into the man’s stomach.

The man screamed, then screamed again when Sebastian tried to jerk the blade free, only to have it catch on the stout cloth of the man’s waistcoat. Someone shouted. He heard the pant of breath, the pounding of feet as the men from the other end of the alley drew near.

Abandoning the dagger, Sebastian pushed up. He could see the mouth of the alley, an eddy of movement and shadow framed by the darker shadows of looming brick walls. He took one running step, two, just as the explosive percussion of a pistol reverberated up the narrow passage. He saw the yellow-white flash of the burning powder, smelled the pungent odor of sulfur.

And felt a stinging line of fire plow across the side of his head.