whispered, 'Let us hope Pickering has not disposed of the Silver Skull, or the Enemy has not located it while we hid like mice. If the boy had not acted so weak we would not be in this position.'
'But we are, so let us hear no more of it,' Will replied.
He eyed Miller, who waited with Mayhew, now even more subdued since night had fallen. His eyes continually flickered from side to side as if searching for an imminent attack.
Will wished he could have sent Miller back to Walsingham, but in his current state it was unlikely he would get out of Alsatia alive. Knowing they would have to carry their liability with them, he had assigned Mayhew to watch over him, and subdue him at the first sign of panic; at least Mayhew could be trusted not to kill Miller, unlike Launceston.
The dark cloaked them as they moved along the streets, the only illumination the glimmer of candles and lamps through dirty glass. At the tavern, they hid in an alley where they could observe the door. When a drunk reeled out across the ruts, Will and Carpenter caught him beneath the arms, clamping one hand over his mouth, and steered him into the alley, where a knife at the throat helped loosen his tongue. Once they had the location of a house where Pickering's men took daily delivery of prizes stolen by their cutpurses, they left the drunk unconscious.
Dodging down alleys and racing from doorway to doorway to avoid scrutiny, it took them five minutes to find the house. Of all the run-down tenements in Alsatia, at first glance it was one of the worst, windows covered with planks, no signs of life within. A second glance revealed an incongruously heavy door with a large lock, and in the shadowed doorway of the next property, the dark shape of a sentry, arms folded, unmoving.
'Master Carpenter?' Will whispered.
Drawing a weighted knife, Carpenter measured the distance and then let the blade fly. It thudded into the guard's throat and he pitched forwards into the street.
Mayhew gaped at the fallen body. 'God's loaves! Where did you learn that trick?'
'Why should I not have natural skill?' Carpenter snarled, adding sullenly, 'It was taught me by one of the natives brought back from the New World.'
At the door, Launceston kept watch while Carpenter retrieved his throwing knife and Mayhew dropped to his knees and unfurled a roll of purple velvet on the step. A set of locksmith's tools was revealed.
'A steerpointe three-chamber.' He sniffed. 'The lock of kings. A grand addition to such a hovel.'
'Pickering lives cheek by jowl with the greatest thieves in all of England, and there is no honour among them. Of all places, this needs the best protection,' Will replied. 'You can open it?'
With a theatrical sigh, Mayhew's skillful fingers swiftly manipulated three of the tools in the keyhole until the lock turned.
Aside to Miller, Will said, 'It is time to put all doubts behind you, Tom. We face only mundane foes here. Pickering will have guarded his riches with the strongest arms in Alsatia. We will have to fight to reach him. Are you ready?'
'You need not doubt me, Will,' Miller replied.
Easing the door open a crack, Will slipped in, drawing his sword. The hall was dark, but he was instantly caught by the scent of lavender pomanders, and bowls of spice to keep the smell of the street at bay. From high above them came the dim sound of revelry.
Putting a finger to his lips, Will beckoned the others in. He had expected there to be at least one guard on the other side of the door and was uneasy to find the hall deserted.
A blast of chill, smoky air reached him. Further along the hall, the door leading to the cellars hung open, and muffled noises came from the dark below. Carpenter made to climb the stairs until Will motioned to him to stop. The cellars would offer a secure place to store riches or prisoners.
Cautiously, he approached the open door. Rough stone steps led down past glistening, damp walls to where a ruddy glow was visible through the smoke, as though a furnace roared beneath. The voices were louder, but still indistinct, yet something in the tone made Will uneasy. Sword at the ready, he edged down a step at a time, covering his mouth against the smoke. As he moved below the level of the hall, he crouched down until he could peer into the room.
The smoke came from the open door of a blazing stove, burning clothes, purses, and other indecipherable objects spilling around its feet. What Will perceived to be the next bundle for the fire was revealed by the shifting smoke to be a body, tossed against one wall, leaking blood. Growing still, Will waited for the smoke to uncover the rest of what the cellar had to offer.
The murmur of voices continued, a susurration ebbing and flowing, but now it was joined by a low, throaty rumble. Near the fiery maw of the stove, Will saw two hot embers suspended in the smoke. They moved slowly.
From the shifting grey appeared a black dog, bigger than a calf, heavyset with muscle, its implacable eyes surveying the cellar. A leather leash stretched from its thick neck to a dark shape hunched over another.
Will waited.
The dog's growl grew louder as it sensed his presence.
Finally the smoke shifted to reveal a lithe, strong figure, brown hair falling across his shoulders, wearing a shirt and breeches of a timeless cut in deep forest shades, brown leather boots to his knees, an oddly shaped knife at his belt, and the hilt of a sword curved at the end into a dragon's head. With the dog's leash held loosely in his hand, to Will he resembled a hunter. Though Will couldn't see his face, the stranger's presence burned as hot as a furnace.
In front of the Hunter lay another of Pickering's guards, his eyes flickering on the brink of death. His stomach had been torn open by the dog. The Hunter held the poor wretch up with one powerful hand wrapped in the folds of his shirt and was clearly questioning him in a low tone.
When the timbre of the dog's growl changed, the Hunter paused. Slowly, he turned his head towards Will. Slipping back before he was seen, Will was sure he caught a fleeting glimpse of eyes as glittering and intense as the dog's red glare.
Easing back into the hall, he closed the cellar door and sealed it with the iron key protruding from the lock, although he knew at best it would only slow the Hunter for a moment.
Miller instantly read Will's face. 'What is down there?'
'Nothing of note,' Will lied. 'They are burning the leftovers of Pickering's ill-gotten gains.' As he moved past Miller, he whispered to the others, 'Time is slipping through our fingers, men. We must find what we came for and be gone in a twinkling.'
Leading the way up the tight stairs, Will slowed as he neared the second floor to peer around the turn where two men waited halfway along the landing. They were rough, unshaven, in poor clothes, their numerous scars detailing their violent life.
Withdrawing, Will rapped on the wall. A second later the shadows of the men loomed across the top of the stairs. Miller burst forth, and before the guards could raise the alarm, he cracked their heads together and they fell to the boards unconscious.
On the third floor, four more men waited, arguing noisily as they drank ale, too many to eliminate without a fight.
Bounding from the top of the stairs, Will took them by surprise. His sword went to the throat of the nearest, while Carpenter, Miller, and Mayhew attacked the others, but not before shouts rose up. Launceston ran one of the guards through, and Mayhew rammed his knife under the ribs of another, withdrawing it with a flourish to slash his victim across the throat. Miller's solid punch broke the jaw of the remaining guard.
A clatter on the stairs signalled the arrival of a guard from the fourth floor who let out a cry of shock before scampering back up. Before he had climbed half the flight, Carpenter's throwing knife was embedded in his back.
'How many guards above?' Will asked his prisoner. The tip of his blade brought a droplet of blood on the guard's throat.
'He was the last,' the man croaked.
'Pickering is up there?'
'He is making merry with his copesmates for his bene fortune.'
'He speaks the thieves' cant,' Carpenter said. 'Prick him some more until he recalls the queen's English.'
'The meaning is clear.' Will brought his sword hilt up hard against the guard's head and knocked him
