Page 22 of By Any Other Name

She ducked, and the fist thudded into the face of the man behind her. With an inarticulate roar, the two men crashed together like two rams at mating season. They lurched about, flailing and striking, feet tangling up with chairs and other legs. Rylla, who had wound up on the floor, knew her best course was to get out of their path. She crawled speedily away on her hands and knees, still clutching her cane, and dove under the nearest table.

Amazingly, over the shouts and crashing of chairs and the squeals of table legs dragging across the floor, Rylla heard Gregory’s voice calling her name. She peered out from under her sheltering table and saw him shoving men aside, struggling toward the center of the fight.

“Gregory!” She leapt out, grabbing at the skirt of his greatcoat, and he whirled.

“Rylla! Thank God!” Gregory’s face was stark white. He wrapped his hand around her arm, nearly lifting her off the floor as he propelled her toward the door.

“It wasn’t my fault!” She told him as they made their way through the tumultuous crowd.

He pulled her behind a post as a man slammed into it from the other side. “Still, I’d prefer not to have to explain to your mother how you came by a black eye and bloodied nose.”

They kept moving toward the door, skirting a pair of combatants rolling around on the floor. Gregory dodged a fist and rammed a chair into another man who charged at them. He did not see the man come up behind him, wielding a thick-glassed bottle, but Rylla did. She brought her cane up sharply, the metal knob on top catching the attacker on the point of his chin. His teeth clacked together, and he wavered, the bottle tumbling out of his hand. It smashed into his foot.

Leaving the attacker hobbling and cursing and wiping his bloody chin, Gregory and Rylla ran for the exit. They were trapped for an instant in a clog at the doorway, then popped through into the street. Gregory took Rylla’s arm and pulled her up the street, but she hung back, looking all around her.

“Rylla! Bloody hell, come on. What are you doing?”

“I saw him! He’s here!”

“Who?” Gregory stopped, pulling her back against the building. “Daniel?”

“No. Kerns.”

“The man who took your brooch? Where?” Gregory swiveled, looking up and down the street.

“I’m not sure. I can’t see him. No, wait, up there!” She pointed up the street, which climbed steeply. At the very top, a man was weaving along. He passed under a streetlamp. “I think that’s him!”

She started off at a run, Gregory right behind her. His long legs quickly outstripped her, but he slowed down, waiting for her.

“Go on! Go on!” she hissed. “I’ll catch up.”

“I’m not leaving you.” He adjusted to a loping pace alongside her.

As they neared the top of the hill, there was no sight of the figure. Pulling to a stop at the cross street, they peered around the corner.

“There!” Gregory started after the dark figure. Their quarry glanced back, saw them, and took to his heels. Gregory charged after him. With a flying leap, Gregory slammed into the man, and the pair crashed to the ground.

Chapter Ten

The two men rolled across the street, grappling, as Rylla ran up behind them. Rylla raised her cane to strike, but she could not get a clear shot at Kerns. He slashed at Gregory with a knife, ripping his coat. Gregory grabbed the man’s wrist and slammed it into the cobblestones.

The man let out a howl, kicking and punching with his free arm, but Gregory ignored his blows and smashed Kerns’s arm to the ground again. The knife skittered across the cobblestones. Gregory pinned him to the ground.

“Is this him?” he panted. “Is it Kerns?”

“Yes, that’s him.”

“Who the devil are you?” Kerns demanded.

“That’s not important.” Gregory hauled the man to his feet and twisted his arm up behind his back. “We have a few questions for you.”

“Questions?” The man gaped at him.

“Yes.” Rylla stepped forward. “We’re looking for Daniel Campbell. Do you know where he is? Have you seen him?”

“Nae. How should I know? “

“Because you’re the sharp who swindled him,” Gregory answered, giving him a shake. “You’re not the kind to lose sight of one of your flats.”