He had promised himself that he would not let anyone harm them again.
This determination had brought forth a new kind of seriousness.
“Are you not my friend, Barton?” Daniel asked, with a lopsided smile.
His friend adjusted his silk cravat. His suit was a pale blue against Daniel’s black, and he stood out in the sooty corner of the tavern, so completely separate from the world they both belonged to.
“Yes, but you know what I mean. Do you think we can be safe here?” Theo asked nervously, and Daniel almost felt sorry for him.
He stood perfectly still. They stood between two buildings that flanked the narrow alley. Unlike Theo, he wore a dark coat that made him blend with the gloom. His deep blue eyes stood out, like the eyes of a predator scanning its new environment.
“Adrian told me that this is where I will find answers. I wouldn’t have come here otherwise,” Daniel explained coolly. His voice was deep and gravelly. “The Dead Man’s Hand isn’t a place for social graces. You may wait by the carriage if you are worried about your suit.”
“Ha! As your friend, I was merely reminding you that we are not well-suited here. We know it, and everyone else will know it. But I won’t let you have all the fun of being murdered and thrown in the gutter,” Theo grumbled. “And how do you know the trail isn’t cold yet? Too cold.”
Daniel stopped. He finally turned to his friend, tilting his head to the side even as his hand hovered over the grimy doorknob.
“The matter of Suffolk will never be too long ago, Barton. My uncle and my cousin were burned to death in that house. Can you imagine such a painful death? It was cruel, especially for good men like them. I had to pull their charred remains, trying to get as much of what they left behind. It wasn’t an accident, and I need to know who did it. I must find the man who struck the match, and whether that same man was the mastermind behind the attack.”
Then, he pushed the door open.
The Dead Man’s Hand was exactly how Daniel imagined it would be. It smelled of unwashed clothes mingling with tobacco smoke and cheap ale, or whatever poison was being served there to strong stomachs that were used to being hungry or eating grub.
The place seemed to have never been scrubbed of soot. Black walls seemed to highlight its very name. Sawdust sprinkled the floor as if someone had begun to repair the place but changed their mind. There was nothing to suggest the tavern needed tender, loving care.
And the sounds? It was a low hum of gruff voices on various deals, ones that made Daniel’s ears perk up.
“Make sure ye get the boxes delivered through the back alley by the docks,” one man said.
“What about coin? Ye can’t simply tell us what to do.”
“Coin comes after, ye know that.”
Daniel followed the voices. He wondered if these were the whispers Adrian was telling him about or something else entirely. The Dead Man’s Hand seemed like a place where anything nefarious could happen.
He didn’t wait to ponder the possibilities. He strode toward the men huddled around a table. He moved smoothly; the only sound was that of his boots thudding on the rough wooden floor. His eyes were fixed on the group, his chin up, his face expressionless.
“Stonewynn,” Theo warned from behind, even as he followed.
Daniel ignored him and finally reached the table in the dark corner, where illegal dealings were being discussed in the open.
A large man with a jagged scar on his left cheek looked up to see him approaching and spat on the floor, his eyes holding Daniel’s. He leaned on the table, displaying his large forearms. Then, he rested his cards on the table.
Face down.
It was a signal. It was awarning.
It did not deter Daniel. Meanwhile, the other men still clutched at their cards, as if they expected the game to resume after the strangers were dealt with. Their eyes were hard, but theyflickered with incredulity when Daniel dragged a chair over to sit with them. Theo exhaled in exasperation.
“I am looking for a specialist,” Daniel began, using his modulated voice.
Despite his control, his voice seemed to carry through the tavern. It was as if everyone had stopped their conversations when the Duke and Marquess made their presence known.
“Someone who is… an expert with fire,” he continued. “One who can make even a large stone building burn as if it were made of tinder, but is quick enough to disappear before getting caught.”
“What do ye think we are here fer, lad? We know nothing about such specialists,” the man with the scar rasped, even as his hand drifted below the table.
Daniel was on high alert. He knew these men could easily go on the defensive, with weapons in hand.
