“Aye?” Brewster gave me a slow nod, as though pondering all I’d said. “Thank you for the lecture.”
“I beg your pardon, Brewster,” I said. “I’m excited to be here. Think of it—ancient Greeks and Romans paraded up and down these very streets, going about their daily life as we do in London.”
“Romans wandered about there too,” Brewster pointed out. “When it was Londinium.”
Brewster might appear to be a ruffian, but knew his letters well and read often, even long tomes about history and art. He’d told me he had to study up to know what pieces were worth nicking. His tone had held amusement when he’d related this to me, mocking me for my surprise at his book learning.
“We’ve erased the Romans from London,” I said. “Save for the odd coins that turn up. Here, you can still see the plan of the old Roman city.”
I pointed with my walking stick to the middle of the town and its grid of streets, where humanity packed itself these days.
Brewster stirred impatiently, finished with the history lesson, and I decided we should end our stroll and seek breakfast.
I took a side lane that led down a staircase toward Grenville’s home. Greenery found holds in pockets of brick beneath peeling plaster, the plants already budding, even this early in the year.
As I stepped on one stair, it moved. Or rather, the entire staircase did. Brewster gave a shout, and I slipped, catching myself hard on my walking stick and the wall beside me.
“Devil take it.”
Brewster’s words were far more foul as he stumbled, and I realized that the hill itself was moving.
“Hold on,” I shouted at him. “It’s an earthquake.”
“Bloodyhell.”
We both clung to the wall, the rough brick abrading my gloves. The stairs vibrated and rocked, and I closed my eyes, bracing myself against it.
The rolling seemed to go on and on, though in reality I supposed it lasted less than minute. Then, as abruptly as it had begun, the quake stopped, and the world stilled.
Shouts sounded, and dogs barked. Shutters in houses around us clanged open, and people called out to each other, voices holding concern.
“’Struth.” Brewster leaned against the bricks, dragging off his hat and wiping his face with a shaking hand. “Never felt anything like that.”
“No?” I tried to make my voice light, but it was unsteady. “I experienced earthquakes often in both India and Portugal. Common here too, because of the mountain.” I waved vaguely at Vesuvius, a volcano that was never quiet for long.
“I’ll take England, me.” Brewster sniffed and jammed his hat back on his head. “Dangerous enough already without the earth trying to shove you about.”
“That was a minor tremor,” I assured him.
I worried that the quake had been strong enough to reach my family in Grenville’s villa, and longed to charge back to them. I reassured myself that they’d be safe in Grenville’s large house north of Rome. Likely the villa was too far away for this rocking to have affected them.
Brewster and I continued down the steep steps, going carefully. I’d no sooner stepped off the last one, Brewster ahead of me, when the world moved again.
Such tremors often occurred in quick succession, and I prayed that this was not the prelude to a much larger earthquake.
I stepped sideways to catch my balance, and at the same moment, something pinged into the bricks where I’d been an instant before. Brewster shoved me roughly aside at the same time the tremor abruptly ceased.
Brewster started back up the stairs at a run, and I saw what had fallen to the pavement beside me. It was a knife, long and wicked looking, its handle wrapped in strips of worn leather. When I lifted it, I found that it had the exact balance and weight for a precision throw.
Someone had aimed that knife at me, and only the fortuitous earthquake had prevented it from landing between my shoulder-blades and burrowing its way into my heart.
Chapter8
What the devil are you standing here for?” Brewster bellowed as he came flying down the steps toward me. “Get yourself indoors, before he comes back and tries again.”
“Who does?” I’d seen no one, and Brewster returned empty handed.
“Don’t know. Never found him.” Brewster scowled, angry at me for nearly getting killed and at himself for not preventing the attack.
