“Lily,” he whispered. “I’m sorry.”
He slowed his pace, trying to appear casual as he passed into the lower part of the city and fingered the large purse that Eberwyn had given him. It was dangerous to carry such riches in this part of town, but that was all part of the plan. Already, he could feel eyes on him, hear soft footsteps following.
He turned into a narrow lane. The air grew heavier as he progressed, the stench of damp stone and stale sweat filling his nostrils. A scratching sound echoed from somewhere above, as if rats or birds had taken up residence in the buildings to each side. At the end of the lane, he reached a courtyard.
The space was overgrown with dead weeds and skeletal bushes, the buildings surrounding it crumbling and decrepit. The air stank of decay. He stopped, listening to the footsteps coming up behind him.
“Ye’ve got a nerve coming back here,” said a voice. “Either that or a death-wish.”
He turned to see four men spread out behind him, blocking his escape. He recognized them as Bryn Fletcher’s men. Each of them carried weapons: a knife, a cudgel, a rusty sword.
Oskar spread his hands. “I’m not here for trouble.”
“Not here for trouble?” one of them said. “Well, too bad, because trouble’s found ye.”
Oskar took Eberwyn’s purse from his belt and held it up so they could see it. The men’s eyes tracked it, lighting with interest. “I’ve come to offer ye a deal,” he said. “And a big pay day.”
“Is that so? How about this for a deal: we kill ye right now and take that bag of coins in payment for the trouble ye’ve caused us since ye came back to Edinburgh.”
Oskar shrugged nonchalantly. “Aye, ye could do that, but I dinna think Byrn would be very pleased with ye.”
“Oh, I think he’d be mighty pleased to hear that ye are dead, Galbraith. He hates ye more than we do.”
“He might hate me, but he isnae a fool and he loves gold more than he hates me. He wouldnae be pleased to hear ye’ve turned down the riches I can give ye.”
A look of uncertainty passed across their faces, and they all glanced at each other.
“What do ye want, Galbraith?”
“To speak to Bryn. That’s all. I give ye my word on that.”
“Yer word?” one of them said incredulously. “As if that means aught to us.”
“All right, dinna take my word. Take this instead.” He tossed the purse over and it landed at the men’s feet with a clink. One of them stooped to pick it up and then examined the contents.
“What’s yer game, Galbraith?” he said, eyes narrowed in suspicion.
“Like I told ye, I need to speak to Bryn. That’s to show I’m acting in good faith. There’s much more than that if ye agree to what I propose.”
He could see he had their interest now. Money had a way of overcoming even the most staunchly-held hatreds. He pressed his advantage.
“Take me to Bryn. Hear what I have to say and if ye dinna like it, ye can just as easily kill me then, canna ye?”
The leader looked at the others and then nodded. “All right. Throw yer weapons over here.”
Oskar did as he was instructed. They picked up the weapons, pocketed the purse, then led him down the narrow street.
The buildings loomed over them like rotting teeth, their timber-and-wattle walls cracked and pockmarked with age. The air was heavy with the scent of the river, which flowed nearby but out of sight. Occasionally, they encountered other inhabitants of the slums—ragged, hungry-looking people who eyed them warily before scurrying away, uncertain of their intentions.
Finally, they reached their destination—a crumbling tower house that loomed over the rest of the slums like a dark sentinel. The door was heavy and creaked as they opened it and emerged into a dimly lit room where they found Bryn Fletcher sitting at a rickety wooden table.
“So, it’s true!” Bryn said, a bitter edge to his voice. “Ye really are stupid enough to show yer face around here. Perhaps ye’ll think differently when I carve it off for ye!”
Oskar ignored Bryn’s threat. “I need yer help, Bryn,” he said, his voice low. “And I’ve come to offer ye a job.”
Bryn snorted, crossing his arms over his chest. “What could ye possibly offer that would make me help ye?”
Bryn Fletcher’s lackey tossed the purse onto the table where it landed with a dull thud. Bryn took it and inspected the contents. His expression revealed nothing of what he was thinking.
