Del saw Larkins’s body shift, knew what he was going to do. With a muttered curse, he stopped reaching for the pistol in his pocket, grasped his sword in his right hand and started forward.
Just as Larkins’s sword arm started to rise again.
Larkins raised his sword above his head, with a roar swung it wildly-and charged.
Devil and Richard had no choice. They turned. Ducking one shoulder, each grabbed one of the women, and in a shower of water, flowers and urns, to ear-splitting screams they hoisted them and rushed them back down the corridor, beyond the door through which they’d come, to safety.
His way cleared, Gyles leapt in and hauled the vicar to him, sword raised, sparks flashing down its length as he used it to ward off Larkins’s roundhouse slash.
Then Larkins was through, past, and racing for the open door.
Del raced after him, but wasn’t close enough. Larkins barreled through the door, then whirled and slammed it shut.
Just before his shoulder hit the panel, Del heard a key grate in the lock.
The door was like the cathedral-solid. The heavy iron hinges were even more so.
Together with Gabriel, Del rammed his shoulder to the panel, but it didn’t so much as shake.
“Wait-wait! I have a key.” The vicar, visibly shaking, came shuffling up, hauling a massive key ring from his robe. There were at least twenty keys on it. “Now…which one is it?”
The keys jingled as he sorted through them.
Del shifted his weight, glanced at the others. “Go out and around.” Because of the risk of being seen, they hadn’t dared post anyone outside.
Gervase, Vane, Lucifer, and Demon rapidly headed out, through the octagon and down the nave-the fastest way to the outside of that part of the cathedral.
Devil came up, sword in hand. “Reverend, is there an external door in that room?”
The vicar glanced up, blinked, then smiled. “Why, my goodness. St. Ives, isn’t it?”
“Yes,” Devil said, unsmiling. “Is there an external door in there?”
The vicar glanced at the door. “Well, of course. That’s how we came in.”
Someone muttered a poorly smothered expletive. Richard and Gabriel started after the others.
The vicar glanced their way. “But there’s no need to worry-I locked it after us. I had no idea you were chasing a madman, but he won’t be able to leave by that door.”
Richard and Gabriel halted, then slowly came back.
“I always lock that door,” the vicar said, returning to his keys. “It’s the parish office, you see. I wouldn’t want just anyone poking around in there-ah!” He held up a key. “This is it.”
“Allow me.” Devil took the key, fitted it in the lock, turned it. They all heard the bolt click back.
The vicar obligingly stepped to the rear.
Devil exchanged a glance with Del, who came to stand by his shoulder.
Devil’s lips quirked. “Just like old times.”
Sword in one hand, with a twist of his wrist Devil opened the door and sent it swinging wide. Del stepped through first. Devil followed on his heels to stand shoulder to shoulder with him, blocking the doorway.
Del’s first thought was that there was no one in the room. All he saw was the open window alongside the locked outer door.
A large casement window fully open, the gap was more than wide enough for a man, even one as large as Larkins, to easily escape through.
Then Del’s gaze lowered, and he realized Larkins hadn’t got away.
What in his peripheral vision he’d seen as a shadow on the floor before the window was in fact a body.
Larkins, on his back in an unnatural sprawl.
Both Del and Devil had seen death often enough to know Larkins was dead even before they reached him.
As they did, Vane appeared in the window. He looked in, swore softly.
“Search,” Del told him. “Whoever did this has only just left.”
Vane met his eyes. “We saw the open window. The others are already looking. I’ll pass the word, but so far we haven’t had sight nor sound of anyone beating a hasty retreat.”
With that, Vane went, leaving Del to look down at Larkins, at the ivory-handled dagger jutting out of his chest.
“Whoever did that knew what he was doing.” Devil nodded at the knife, then stepped over Larkins’s legs to the window.
“Oh, yes.” Del crouched, laid his sword aside. “The Black Cobra is exquisitely well-versed in dealing death.”
“So Ferrar, do you think?” Devil asked, examining the window ledge.
“He would be my guess.” Methodically, Del went through Larkins’s pockets, shifting the big man to check every section of the heavy coat.
Devil humphed. “Well, it’s clear enough what happened. Ferrar, if it was he, was watching. He saw Larkins come to this window. Before Larkins could climb through, Ferrar got here.”
Del rose. “Most likely Ferrar watched the action from outside-easy to peer through those small segments of clear glass set between the stained glass. With the light so weak outside, we wouldn’t have seen him even if we’d looked, but he would have seen all that happened inside.”
He glanced down at the body. “He saw Larkins accept the scroll-holder and try to kill Sangay-in front of all of us. All of us saw, all could bear witness. We saw Larkins attempt to kill while trying to retrieve a letter from the Black Cobra sealed with his master’s personal seal.”
Del circled the body, studying Larkins’s coarse-featured face. “What would be the odds that Larkins, given the choice between the hangman and transportation in return for his testimony, would have implicated Ferrar?”
Devil joined him. “High, I would say. If you trust a ravening dog, it’ll turn on you someday.”
“Just so. I think Ferrar thought that, too.” Del bent and retrieved his sword. “So he killed Larkins-sacrificed him to save his own skin.”
Gervase appeared at the window, Vane, Demon, and Lucifer at his back. “No sightings,” Gervase grimly reported. “The closest we got…” He glanced at Demon.
Who looked disgusted. “On the west side, heading south. I heard hoofbeats, already distant, fading rapidly. Too far away, and going too fast for us to have any chance of following. And there’ll be no tracks-the roads that way are churned to slush.”
Devil looked down at Larkins’s body. “So the Black Cobra got away, but gave up his right-hand man.”
Del finished a slow perusal of the room, then looked at the others. “And the scroll-holder’s gone.”
Sixteen
December 19
Elveden Grange, Suffolk
Your letter was a copy, a decoy. Sacrificing it to take out his right-hand man, with a chance at Ferrar himself, was the right decision.” Royce Varisey, Duke of Wolverstone, erstwhile government spymaster, with his black hair, dark eyes, chiseled features and long, powerful frame the very epitome of a darkly dangerous nobleman of Norman descent, kept his compelling gaze fixed on Del.
The entire company, ladies included, were congregated in the large drawing room of Elveden Grange, a sprawling Jacobean manor house set amid extensive gardens in a forested area a little way from the village of that name. The ambiance was soothing, and very English. The instant Del had set eyes on the house-two low stories with attics set under a many-gabled roof-he’d suspected what he would find inside. Lots of oak, on the floors, in the linen-fold paneling and ornate woodwork, even in some of the ceilings. The furniture, too, all lovingly polished until it glowed with a honey-gold patina.
Outside, there were ramblers festooning the walls, bare branches now, but he could imagine what they would be like in summer, blossoms nodding in the breeze. Inside, a similar sensual luxury abounded, with richly painted artworks and exquisite ornaments, velvet and satin-striped fabrics, and the jewel tones of precious Eastern carpets.