Defeated, deflated, Del and Deliah reached the end of the path and stepped out onto the open lawn. They walked a few paces to one side and halted. The giggling party came out of the walk and, with exclamations of delight at the vista, continued on.
Once the chattering had died, Del glanced at Deliah. “We could head back the same way. Give them another chance at us.”
She nodded. “Let’s.”
They did, but there were no more rustlings in the thick bushes.
Whoever had been stalking them was gone.
Reaching the end of the walk, they stepped out onto the carriage drive. Looking north along it, they saw Tony standing chatting to Gervase under a large tree. Gervase looked their way, gave a very slight shake of his head.
“Come on.” Grim-faced, Del took Deliah’s arm. “We may as well go back to the hotel.”
December 13
Grillon’s Hotel
An hour and a half later, Del headed for his room. He and Deliah had repaired to the suite. She’d ordered tea, then Tony and Gervase had joined them.
There had been elusive shadows lurking in the bushes along the path. Tony and Gervase had hung back, watching, waiting for the shadows to make a move before they closed in, but suddenly the shadows had frozen, then drifted away.
They’d been locals, however, not Indians, not cultists. And their wariness suggested that the Black Cobra was now hiring better-quality help.
Not a good sign.
Reaching his room, Del opened the door and went in. Cobby was there, preparing his bath. Closing the door, Del shrugged out of his coat. He frowned abstractedly as he laid it aside. “I have an errand for you.”
“Aye?”
“I need tickets to some event or other-the opera, theater-whatever’s on. For Miss Duncannon and myself.”
“For this evening?”
“Yes.”
“Does the lady like music?”
“I have no idea.” Del drew off his cravat. “Any entertainment will do. Just find me something that might distract her.”
And him.
“If you’ve all you need here, I’ll go see the lads at the desk.”
Del nodded. Cobby left.
Stripping off the rest of his clothes, Del sank into the hip bath. The water was steaming. Leaning back, he closed his eyes.
Gervase and Tony were on their way to the tavern to keep watch for the Black Cobra’s man.
His duty tonight was to keep Deliah safe, yet after the events of their long day, spending the entire evening with her alone, in private, was the very definition of unwise.
Quite aside from that startling kiss and the sense of unfinished business in the way it had ended-on which he’d dwelled more than once during the day-there was the associated problem of the debilitating effect having her with him, literally beside him, while being stalked by the Black Cobra’s minions was having on his control.
It was a constant abrasion, a relentless weakening.
He didn’t like even the thought of her going into danger; having her beside him, knowingly taking her along with him, was a form of subtle torment. Something inside him, some part he’d rarely had to deal with and had rarely crossed, let alone provoked, invariably reacted, as if her being in danger was a grave and gross oversight on his part.
And it-that other side of him-prodded him, hard, to correct that oversight. To do something to ensure she wasn’t exposed. At all. Not just to ensure she was safe but to unequivocally take her out of the action so there was no chance she’d ever be in any danger at all.
He could imagine how she’d react if he let that part of himself loose, let it guide him.
The response she evoked in him was extreme, ridiculous in one sense, and by and large not something he understood. But he had too much on his plate with his mission, with the Black Cobra, to spend time thinking of it, thinking through it, now.
He just had to find ways to deal with it-to manage it for now. Later, once the mission was over, once the Black Cobra was caught, he’d have time to work through it and assuage it, but not yet. Not now.
When it came down to it, his mission was not proceeding well. They were drawing out the Black Cobra’s minions, but those minions were local hirelings, not cultists, yet it was the cultists he needed to remove.
They were the deadly ones, the ones with no rules, no lines they, in the Black Cobra’s name, would not cross. His decoy’s mission was to reduce their number so that the others following would have fewer to face.
That was the crux of his mission, and in that, he was failing.
Sangay stuck his nose out of the alley door of the fancy hotel. The icy wind whipped in, made him shiver uncontrollably, but the alley was empty. He had to go now.
Slipping outside, he shut the heavy door, then, sucking in a breath, holding it against the chill, he crept down the alley, away from the street at the other end, toward what he’d heard the other servants call the mews-the area for carriages and horses at the rear of the building.
The hotel stable was further along, tucked behind the bulk of the hotel itself. Reaching the mews, he peeked around the corner and saw the usual huddle of grooms and stableboys gathered outside the open door of the stable, warming their hands at a glowing brazier.
He wished he could spend a few minutes getting warm, but he dared not. He needed to get back to the docks. He prayed to Ganesh every hour that his ship would still be there, somewhere in the huge waterways around what they called the Pool of London.
It wasn’t really a pool, not to Sangay’s way of thinking. But he had to make it back, or he’d never see India, or his mother, again.
Sliding unobtrusively around the corner, hugging the deepening shadows along the wall, he crept soundlessly away from the stable, away from the hotel. He’d been safe enough there, warm enough there-he’d been fed enough there for the first time in his short life. But he didn’t dare stay.
The man would come for him, he knew. He had to go before he found him.
His slippered feet made no sound on the cobbles. As the distance from the hotel grew, he risked going a little faster. Memory of the man drove him on. He might have been just a cabin boy, but he’d been an honest boy, a good boy. He didn’t want to become a thief, but if the man caught him again…
He started running.
Reaching the end of the mews, he swung around the corner-and ran into a wall of muscle and bone.
He staggered back. Before he could regain his balance, a hand closed on his collar. He sucked in a breath, ready to protest his innocence, when from a long way above him a dark voice growled, “And just where do you think you’re going?”
Fear shot through him. He squeaked, tried to squirm loose, but the grip on his collar tightened. The man shook him like a rat.
Shook him until he was gasping, choking.
Then the man’s other hand caught his chin, forced his face up until he found himself staring into a dark-featured scowl. It wasn’t the frown that terrified Sangay-it was the man’s pale eyes.
“Let me remind you, boy, what will happen if you don’t do as I say.” The words were low, a rumble. “I’ll have your mother strung up and slow-roasted over a fire. She’ll scream and beg for mercy-mercy no one will grant her. Before she dies-and I assure you that won’t be soon-she’ll curse your name, curse the day she brought such an ungrateful whelp into this world.” The deep rumble paused.
The cold fist of fear tightened, choking Sangay.
“On the other hand,” the dark voice continued, “if you do as I say, your mother will never know anything about any fire, any excruciating pain, any horrible, terrible, godforsaken death.”
On the last word, the man shook him again. “So, whelp-your choice.” The man all but snarled, “Which will it be? Will you get back into that hotel and fetch the wooden scroll-holder I sent you for, or do I kill you now and send a message back to India on the first tide?”