Bitterly disappointed, feet itching to race out of there to find Ami, Edmund snatched the message a little too forcefully. The tray clattered to the floor, and he couldn’t work up one bit ofsympathy for it. He wheeled back to the professor and offered the paper. “What do you make of this?”
The professor looked at him askance for a moment, as well he should. In times like these Edmund scorned his affliction more than any other, but it would take too long to sound out each and every word—time he didn’t have. Time Ami didn’t have!
Thankfully, the professor merely squinted at Barnaby’s telegram and mumbled aloud as he read.
“‘The curse has struck again—or rather Mr. Fletcher has. He moved the artifacts yesterday, leading Jameson and I to believe Mr. Harrison had purchased them. Not so. Mr. Harrison arrived tonight for a final viewing and is not happy to see the relics gone. Please advise.’”
His leg ached. So did his bunion. And Brudge’s fingers were working up a fairly strong cramp as well, especially in his pinky. Blast the struggling little Shadow Broker. She was more of a scrapper than he’d counted on.
Gritting his teeth, he limp-hustled along with Wormwell’s cribbage-faced escorts, one of them so pockmarked it looked as if he’d been hit in the face with a meat hammer. Brudge would have made it to the smuggling kingpin’s warehouse at least twenty minutes ago if it hadn’t been for lack of cabs from a sudden rain that’d broken and for Scupper. The traitorous wretch. Of all the places in all of London, what were the chances one of the big goon’s old mates would show up in Angel Alley for some late-night skullduggery? And worse, offered Scupper a fatter purse than he could supply the man. Well, good riddance! Him and his guv’ner this and guv’ner that. Scupper was a brainless wad of twaddle, and he’d told him as much.
Which hadn’t really helped the situation.
But that was neither here nor there. The fact was, he had about ten minutes until midnight to get Neddie and himself out of Wormwell’s clutches. With a little luck and a quick tongue, he just might be able to pull it off.
Inside the warehouse—which was really just a huge cavern of damp and darkness better suited to bats than men—the pile of muscles in front of him turned down a well-lit passage and stopped at a closed door. After a cursory knock and a requisite “Enter,” the big man slid the wide door aside, top wheels screeching on their track like a shaken cage of mice.
The guard behind him grunted. “Move it.”
Brudge lugged the woman inside the large room, her mumbled complaints worthless against the rag he’d tied around her mouth. A single chandelier dangled overhead, spreading a circle of light that he and the woman were prodded into. Ahead, in the darkness where the light didn’t reach, a single spot of burning red flared, the scent of cigar smoke acrid on the musty air.
“I was wondering if you’d make the deadline or if I’d have to send out a retrieval squad.” Wormwell’s bass voice was surprisingly dull thanks to the thick layers of Persian rugs covering the area. It was a little disconcerting, though, not to be able to see him as he spoke. “Five minutes to spare. Impressive. Your son has been waiting ever so patiently to see if you’d show. Bring the man in, Flick.”
Brudge tensed as the colossus who’d led them to the room disappeared out a side door. Neddie was still alive, but how much had his boy suffered over the past month and a half? At seventeen, his son was resilient, but not even a young brawler could last long drudging for Wormwell.
Moments later, the guard reappeared, this time with Neddie, one thick arm wrapped around his son’s neck. The other pressing a gun to his temple.
Sweat collected on Brudge’s brow, moist and cold. He shivered as he clutched the woman’s arm tighter, telling himself it was more for balance than for comfort in the face of such a threat. The Shadow Broker whimpered, and he almost did too.
But to show fear would get him and his boy killed.
“Let Neddie go!” he rumbled. “I’ve brought the payment before the deadline, just as we agreed.”
A bushel basket rolled out from the darkness, landing on its side in the circle of light.
“Put the money in there, and your son will be released.”
With his free arm, Brudge swiped his brow, mopping the sweat with his sleeve. He couldn’t very well wad up the woman and pack her in that basket.
“I didn’t bring money,” he admitted, then propelled the woman forward. “I brought something better.”
Outside rain dripped against the tin roof, hardly more than a thick mist yet almost deafening in the sudden silence. If he listened hard enough, he might even hear the steady sizzle of Wormwell’s cigar.
“A tasty morsel,” the dismembered voice said at length. “But if I wanted a doxy, I’d have picked one up on Flower and Dean. The money, Brudge, or your son pays your debt, the one that’s due in four minutes.”
The woman’s backbone straightened to a ramrod. She was on edge.
So was he, and without the woman to prop him upright, he leaned heavily on his good leg to keep the pain at bay in the other. “She’s not a moll,” he clarified. “She’s your ticket to wealth. The woman belongs to Mr. Price,thePrice, wealthiest gent in all of Oxford. He’ll fork over a pretty sixpence or two to get her back. More than I could ever pay you. You’ll pocket a tidy profit because of me.”
Again silence. The red dot dulling somewhat, then flaring back to life after an ash had been flipped away.
“Do you think I’m stupid enough to extort such a prominent man?” Wormwell’s tone was a bucket of ice water. “I’d have bluecoats swarming all over my prosperous business here. I don’t need her. I need my money. And you’ve got three minutes to toss it in that basket, or your Neddie is done.”
Panic tasted sour at the back of Brudge’s throat. “Then don’t ransom her! Use her. She’s a historian who knows her trinkets. She can jack up your trade, give you credence, tell which pieces are fake and which are real.”
“Is that so?”
The dot disappeared, as if Wormwell had turned the thing around and was studying it while deep in thought. Could be. And if so, now was his chance to drive home his point.
