“Frederick Wycliffe,” William replied. “He had a bad heart.”
The man’s face twisted. “I remember him. Thin, scrappy lad with brown hair. I sold himCentauris Maior,or as others call it, Cornflower. The tea helps the heart. Also helps cleanse the blood.”
“What else?”
“Hmm. I recall selling him some Feverfew too, to reduce his muscle spasms when he started his prizefighting bouts,” Gibney shrugged. “That’s all I know.”
“Have you seen him recently?”
“A fortnight, no, three weeks ago, yes, but after that, nothing,” Gibney said.
“Do you know any hideaways he has around here?”
“Not that I can think of, guv.”
Colin nudged William. “Thank you, kind sir. Now, come on, Arlington. I can probably wheedle Brookstone into another hand.”
“You’ve given me something to work on,” William nodded while he flicked his hood up.
“Andyouhave given me a fortune,” Gibney grinned widely. “I’ll see you gents out.”
As they stepped out to the waiting carriage and boarded—a barricade of men blocked the alley mouth, and it didn’t take a sharp eye to see the blade glistening in their hands.
Instantly, William’s guard went up. From his periphery, he saw Colin’s jaw tighten at the now tense situation.
The door at their back creaked open and Gibney stood there, smirking, twirling a blade. “See, the fortune you just gave mecovered half of the debt Wycliffe left me with, and the boys and I figure ye and yer laddy there are good for the rest of it.”
“Hand over that purse, nice an’ slow,” one man hissed, approaching menacingly.
William clenched his fists.
“More company,” Colin murmured, nodding to two men who blocked the other half of the alley.
In a move they had perfected over the years of boxing—and brawling at Oxford—they pressed their backs together. William wrenched his head and saw the two other men block off their exit from the alley.
The gas lamps from the street made the men’s shadows stretch long against the side of the church. “Six to two. It could be worse.”
William rolled his neck. He had been in worse situations over the years. Many times. In fact, one of those times had led him to meet his wife.
“Would you gentlemen care to introduce yourselves?” William asked while assessing the first man he would take down.
“Didn’t ye hear what the man said? Hand over the purse,” one, wearing an eyepatch over a wicked scar, sneered, his bladeflicking from one hand to the other. “We wouldn’t like to deliver yer guts to yer pretty wives.”
“No names? I’ll remind the gravediggers to put scarface and pegleg on your stones then.”
A man barring the entrance lunged forward, blade flashing, and William spun while Colin slipped his coat off and twisted it over the arm with the knife, placed his back to the man with the blade trapped, flipped him over, and slammed him to the ground in one smooth maneuver.
Facing the other man behind them, William swatted his hand away and sent the blade into the wall. He grabbed the attacker's wrist and twisted it until something went—snap.
A ripple went up the back of his head and he ducked in time for Colin to punch another man away from him. Mirroring the help, William slammed a hand to the ground, and quick as a snake, he swept the man’s legs out from under him before launching and delivering a blistering uppercut to another.
A third man grabbed a discarded knife and swung the blade in a wide arc that William easily dodged, but he opened himself for a fist to the face. Reeling back, he shook the blow off, and while vigor pounded through his body, he launched into another attack, falling another man with a blow to the temple that sent him to sleep.
A flash of silver—
“Argh!” he snarled as the knife sliced through his coat and scored his arm, and the acrid smell of iron and copper met his nose.
The pain in his arm spurred him to fight harder and he decided to stop tempering his punches and slammed the blade of his hand into an attacker’s throat, crushing his windpipe and then added a blow to his exposed center while Colin had a fourth man on the wall.
