The Bride of Devil's Acre by Jennifer Kohout

which came first, Stubs’ name or his physique.  
    Stubs stood, his fists clenched at his sides. He took a threatening step toward the Irishman. “You’d best best be telling me who’s responsible, or I’ll—”
    “You’ll what?” Finn snarled and let the knowledge of the number of ways he could kill Stubs fill his eyes.
    Stubs was deflated, the aggression leaking out of his posture. “He was my friend. I would see his death avenged.”
    Finn sighed. Friendships were scarce in Devil’s Acre, and were even more rare in St. Giles. That Carver had inspired such sentiment in a man like Stubs was something to ponder another day. For now, they had work to do.
    “Grab his hands,” Finn ordered, taking Carver by the legs and preparing to lift him onto the blanket. “I’ll tell you the particulars later.”
    “Where we taking him?” Stubs grabbed Carver’s wrists and lifted. The man’s skin was chilled and his head lulled back on his neck. More blood seeped from the gaping wound, thick and sluggish.
    “We’ll dump him in the Thames.” Finn folded the blanket over Carver’s legs and secured it with a thick length of rope. “Here.”
    Stubs caught the rope Finn tossed him, setting it aside and reaching for the blanket. The blanket stirred. Stubs jerked his hand back. “Did you see that?”
    Finn looked up from the knot he was tying. “What?”
    Stubs stared at the blanket. “I thought…never mind.”
    “Hurry up. I want to get this done while it’s still raining.”
    Stubs nodded. Must have been his imagination. No way Carver was still alive, not with his neck slit and his blood all over the floor.
    “Grab an end,” Finn grunted. Carver may have looked like a snake, but he was still thirteen stones of deadweight.
    They wrestled the body back up the stairs. A quick look confirmed the street was still deserted, only the most desperate would be out on a night like this.
    The maze of deserted streets and empty alleys to the Thames seemed endless. The rain hadn’t let up. If anything, it had gotten worse. Rivulets of cold water streamed down the back of Finn’s shirt and soaked his shoes.  
    I’m taking tomorrow off, Finn decided. Let Devil try and find him.
    Stubs struggled as Carver’s body shifted in his grip. The body sagged between them and threatened to touch on the ground. “Hold up.”
    “We’re almost there.”
    “I’m gonna drop him.”
    “He’s beyond caring; keep going.” Finn’s back was screaming, and he was ready to get this business done.
    Stubs scrambled to keep up.
    “There.”
    Stubs looked past Finn. Even in the heavy rain, the oily black water of the Thames was clearly visible. “I see it.”
    Finn scanned the banks of the river. There were no bridges spanning this section of the Thames, the government having deemed the expense an unnecessary waste. They would have to toss Carver’s body in and hope the current picked it up and carried it downstream.  
    Finn led the way toward an exposed mudbank. The heavy rain had saturated the mud, and his feet sank in the thick sludge. Finn swore as he pulled his foot free, the mud creating suction that let muddy water into his shoe. Stubs wasn’t faring much better.  
    The two men struggled to get close enough to the water’s edge, Carver’s body growing heavier by the second.  
    “This is far enough,” Finn said, wiping his forehead on his shoulder. His hat was gone, and his hair was plastered to his head. “Let’s swing him.”
    Stubs moved parallel with the river, the body picking up momentum between then.  
    “On three.”  
    Finn counted down and heaved Carver’s body toward the Thames. Unfortunately, Stubs fumbled at the last second, losing his grip and dropping the body. Instead of sailing over the bank and out into the water, the body landed in the mud, only its lower half in the water.  
    Finn swore. Hands on his hips, he tipped his head back, letting the cold rain wash the sweat from his face. He prayed for