Soldiers ran around me, charging the entry. A few ran toward the secret entrance to the catacombs. These invaders had knowledge of Hamlin, deep knowledge. It took more than two years for me to learn its secrets.
Sweat drenched my forehead. My powdered wig had to stay pinned in place. The dabbed-on theater cosmetic had to stick to my face, or I’d never be able to walk free through Hamlin’s gates.
“You! Man the door.” A groom pointed to the big carriage, the one that almost ran me down.
I nodded and stiffened my walk to seem more brutish. I prepared my countenance, thinkingburpand rough things like burlap. Escape was impossible until I passed this test. Bracing, I threw open the carriage door.
A man bounced out, tall and thin, looking cross. “I guess we’ve arrived. Winning already, Duke?”
The other fellow inside struggled toward the opening, like he couldn’t get a good push on the tufted seat. He shrugged and fumbled with a shiny gold watch. “Eleven on the dot. An excellent time to storm the castle.” He chuckled. “And yes, we are winning. You. Don’t just stand there gawking. Help me out.”
My name wasn’tYouor at least it wasn’t the last time I’d written it. I pointed to my bosom. “Me?”
The big man flopped a little closer to the door and exposed a heavily bandaged leg. “Yes, you.”
“Yes, sir.”
The urge to check my white wig for escaping dark hair or adjust my livery to see if I’d wet through pressed. My milk was heavy again, and my nerves rattled like the silver toy Lionel should have in his crib, the one Markham sold off.
“You’re a might scrawny, but tall enough for the task.”
“For what?”
“To help me balance. You’ll do as a crutch. Let’s get on with this.”
First ayouand now acrutch? I grimaced and tried hard not to gawk at his slow, scooting movements, tried not to think of my baby sister flopping about learning to crawl. Tried and failed to not let missing my family mist my eyes.
The thinner man returned. “I’ll have a proper crutch brought to you in a moment. Slow down. Napoleon’s not inside, just Markham and a baby.”
“And all his corrupt minions, Gantry. We know he’s been hiring reinforcements.”
The other man shook his head and turned to me. “Minion, don’t drop the duke on his head. It won’t help.”
Me aminion? Never to Markham. “I won’t, sir.”
I stuck my hand inside the carriage, like a girl, like a scared little girl who thought a furry spider might crawl onto her hand. Dukes didn’t bite and make sticky webs, did they?
He grabbed my flailing arm and towed himself to the opening. “This one has a sense of humor, Gantry, complete with flopping limbs.”
The duke’s laugh was full and lusty. He didn’t look so mean, not chuckling like a schoolboy. Then his expression sobered. “My soldiers surrounded Hamlin. Markham can’t escape. Not this time, not with my ward.”
“Yes, Repington.” Gantry shrugged and moved toward the second carriage.
Repington? Colin’s dead grandfather? How did this man have this name? He looked too solid to be a ghost.
Was this the person the servants said would come to fix things?
I didn’t know what new conspiracy had begun, but this peer had my arm, and he’d come for Markham.
But who was his ward? Lionel?
“I’m not one who waits,” the duke said. “No more antics. Do you think you can help me balance? From your stares, you can see I’m injured. I need to get inside at once.”
Hope built in my veins, pumping me up, floating my heart like a heated paper lantern. I ducked my shoulder under his arm. “Non-corrupt minion here, Your Grace. I can help until a true crutch is brought forward.”
The duke’s laughter sounded richer, like a full-bodied dessert port. Then his full weight came down on me.
Ugh.
