Against the Brotherhood by Chelsea Quinn Yarbro, Bill Fawcett Page B

surprised.
    “There you are, Mister Jeffries, and may you enjoy your supper,” said the landlord as he put it before me. “Food and drink enough for any man.”
    “True enough,” I said, and sniffed at the stew, which seemed flavored only with pepper. I would need the mustard to make it edible.
    “You’ll have another glass when that one is empty,” Holt reminded me before he went back to his station behind the bar.
    I was hungry enough to enjoy this unpromising fare; it would absorb the worst of the gin, or so I hoped, for tonight I reckoned I would need my wits about me if Vickers returned.
    FROM THE PERSONAL JOURNAL OF PHILIP TYERS:
    Today Mother was much worse, sunk into a dreamy state that does not bode well for her life.
    M.H. has been about errands for the Bavarian treaty; he returned here in a country squire’s riding gear and the look of a man who had taken a nasty fall riding to hounds. Upon my examination of him, I discovered he was bleeding in the shoulder, whereupon he produced the weapon which had inflicted the injury—a small skinning knife with a thin, wicked blade. “Much more of this,” he told me, “and I’ll have to send for Sutton ahead of schedule.” During his absence from this flat, he has learned that there is likely to be an attempt to steal the treaty before it can be signed. No amount of coaxing on my part would persuade him to tell me more than this concerning his escapades. He hopes that G. will provide the information necessary to prevent such a theft, for it would be a disaster.

IT WAS AFTER nine when Vickers at last put in an appearance in the taproom of the Cap and Balls. By this time I had almost assumed he would not arrive that night, and was on the point of going to my damp and unpleasant little room, and so was not as fully prepared to deal with the man as I had been rather earlier.
    “Did you achieve your goal today, Mister Jeffries?” asked Vickers without any salutation whatever. He had obtained a glass of his port from Holt, and had taken up the same place he had occupied the night before.
    “I found a solicitor who is willing to undertake my case, if that’s what you mean. For thirty pounds.” I spat this last out, making a show of my anger.
    “A goodly sum, but surely worth it if he can expedite securing the funds your father left you?” He lifted his glass in my direction, and I had to hide the qualms he gave me by this civility.
    “It’s robbery, and no mistake about it. Just because he may have to dodge around the terms of the will a little.” I scoffed as I laughed. “That’s what lawyers are supposed to do, isn’t it?”
    “There are those who think so,” said Vickers. He watched me for a short while in a silence as stretched and miserable as a miser’s purse strings. “You have had supper, or so I gather.”
    “I was hungry,” I grumbled.
    “But with so little... pardon me for mentioning your straitened circumstances, but it is not what I would expect, this dining.” He showed me his teeth. “You must have had unexpected good fortune today.”
    “I... came across a little money, and I decided to eat,” I told him, doing my best to appear boastful about it and sly at the same time.
    “And how did you... er... come across it, pray?” Vickers persisted.
    It was an effort to answer as he stared at me. “I saw a gent leave a pouch. In the solicitor’s chamber. He didn’t look back for it, so I picked it up when he was gone. There weren’t much in it.” I was able to sound ill used by this unfortunate trick of fate.
    “Still, to have a few shillings just now must be welcome.” Vickers met my look with his own, far more predatory stare.
    “Amen to that, Mister Vickers,” I said, lifting my half-empty glass of gin to him.
    He sprang his trap. “And I imagine you are not above undertaking something not quite within the law in order to—”
    “Hey, now, Mister Vickers. I won’t risk no Brixton holiday for a handful of shillings.” I