bringing down a heap of rubble and dirt that formed a makeshift dam. Water shot over the lip of the cave-in like a waterfall. But when he scrambled to the top of the tumulus, Sebastian found a broad expanse of water that had backed up behind the debris. A subterranean lake stretched from one side of the vault to the other, submerging the footpaths on either side.
“Well, hell.”
The light was fading fast, the dam alive with rats that scuttled, screeching, across the refuse at his feet. Reaching down to pick up a stout branch, he found himself staring at the pale body of a newborn baby mixed up with the carcasses of dead cats and dogs, and the broken chairs and filthy twisted rags that had snagged on the rubble. The stench here was almost overwhelming.
Moving gingerly in the near darkness, Sebastian lowered himself into the cold, murky water on the far side of the dam. His cravat wasn’t exactly white anymore, but he tore it off anyway, and buttoned up his dark coat to hide the betraying gleam of his silk waistcoat. Scooping up a fistful of muck, he smeared his face with mud. Then he settled down to wait, the branch held ready.
The glow of the lantern grew closer. He heard a man say, “Oh, God,” in a voice half strangled by disgust. “Rats. And look what they’re eating.”
“Here,” snapped Portland. “Give me the lantern.”
Sebastian could see him now, the light from the battered tin lantern wobbling over the vaulted ceiling of the sewer as he clambered across the debris. The Home Secretary’s hat was gone, his once fine coat torn and muddied. A jagged scrape trickled blood down one cheek. At the top of the dam he paused.
“Mother of God, it’s a lake,” said the other man, coming up beside him. “We can’t get across that.”
“Devlin obviously did.”
“You don’t know that. Maybe he drowned.”
“He didn’t drown.” Perching the lantern on the end of an out-thrust slab of rubble, Portland waded into the lake. The water swirled up over his boots until it was lapping at his thighs, then his hips. As he lifted his arms above the dark water, Sebastian could see the pistol stuck in the waistband of his breeches.
Hidden behind a pile of trash, Sebastian sank lower in the water and let him pass.
The other man hesitated, then scampered after him. He was reaching back to grab the lantern when Sebastian rose like a specter from the water, the branch gripped in both hands.
The man’s eyes widened, his lips parting in a high-pitched shriek. Sebastian put the entire weight of his body into the swing and sent the wood smashing into the man’s legs.
The crack of breaking bone echoed around the shadowy, lamplit vault. The man screamed in pain, his legs buckling beneath him. Sebastian swung again as the man splashed into the water, the branch splintering in Sebastian’s hands as it shattered against the man’s head.
Portland turned, moving awkwardly in the waist-deep water.
The other man’s body floated between them, facedown.
Portland surged forward, wading into the shallows. Smiling grimly, he reached to snatch the pistol from his waistband. He held it out in a steady grip, the dark bore of the barrel pointed at Sebastian’s chest. “You lose, my friend,” he said, and pulled the trigger.
Sebastian listened to the click of the locking mechanism striking steel and smiled. “Powder doesn’t like to get wet.”
“You son of a bitch.” Portland’s nostrils flared, his lips pressing together in a tight, grim line. Shifting his grip on the pistol, he swung it over his head like a club and lunged at Sebastian.
Dodging sideways, Sebastian felt the slime-coated rubble shift beneath his feet. He lost his balance and plunged deep, sucking in a quick breath just before the water closed over his head.
He had to fight his way to the surface, the ground beneath his feet still treacherous. Breaking water, he found Portland there before him. The Home Secretary raised the pistol to bring it down on Sebastian’s head again, the barrel blue-black in the faint glow of the lantern, the dark, polished wood of the handle dripping water.
Sebastian still gripped the splintered remnants of his cudgel in his fist, and he used it now like a dagger, driving it up into Portland’s gut just as the man leapt.
Portland’s eyes flew open wide, a gasp coming from the back of his throat as the jagged wood thrust deep into his stomach. Sebastian took a quick step back. The man’s legs collapsed beneath him.
He sank quickly, the lake closing over his head, his body sucked along by the current so that Sebastian had to dive into the murky water to find him.
Fisting his hands in Portland’s coat, Sebastian hauled the man out of the water and dragged him up onto the pile of rubble. “Why Guinevere Anglessey?” Sebastian said with a gasp, dropping down beside him. “Why did she have to die?”
Portland’s eyes were open, his chest jerking with each breath. “Varden was careless,” he said, his voice a hoarse whisper. “He let her find the letter….”
Water dripped down Sebastian’s cheeks, ran into his eyes. He swiped at his face with one wet sleeve. “
“A letter from Savoy. Varden…he swore she wouldn’t tell anyone. But we couldn’t take the chance.”
“So you lured her to the Norfolk Arms and killed her?”
“No. Not me.” Portland shook his head, the movement causing his chest to heave as he fell to coughing. “Carter needed help getting the body out of his inn. It was my idea to use her death to”—his face twisted in a spasm of pain—“to discredit the Prince. It was working, too. Until you interfered.”
“What are you saying? That Carter killed her?”
Portland’s eyelids flickered closed.
