like.”
Interesting definition of a job.
“You cannot. I am not in search of an employee at the moment. I’m in search of a whiskey and a wom—a nice ale.”
He’d just then decided to add a woman to his objective.
“Though yer jus’ wanted a nasty strong drink.” Shrewdly observed.
“I’ll find one, mark my words,” Chase said grimly. He stopped abruptly. “Where the hell is this bloody pub? Did you tell me the truth about its location?”
The boy ignored the salient question. “Will ye teach me to fight?”
“No.” Chase thought it all too likely that this one would learn to fight all on his own. He looked down at the dirty boy. His eyes were so blue, Eversea blood could have caused them. Perhaps they were simply blue in contrast to the grime in the rest of his face. He stared at him for a tick.
“Do you have a name?” he heard himself ask, and regretted it immediately. This one seemed to want words as much as shillings, and he wanted nothing more to do with him.
“Aye. It’s Blade.” This was accompanied by a chin jut.
“It’s not. What is your real name?”
“Liam.” Liam seemed in awe of his own inability to not answer Chase’s questions.
Chase looked away from Liam toward the mirage-like Mumford Arms. “Do you have any brothers, Liam?” he asked gruffly. Thinking Arms. “Do you have any brothers, Liam?” he asked gruffly. Thinking this was how he’d learned to fight.
“Loads of ’em.”
He turned back. “Sisters?”
“Loads.”
Chase sighed. “How many actual brothers and sisters do you have?
”
“One sister.” Glumly admitted. He made having a sister sound like a character flaw.
Chase knew it was unfair, using his captain’s voice on a child. Still, he had no patience for prevarication.
“Your mother? Your father?”
The boy shrugged. A lift of one bony shoulder, nearly Gallic in nature. It could mean anything.
Chase suddenly felt leaden with weariness. He was weary of the boy, of the questions he’d indulged, of himself, of the day, of yesterday, of tomorrow, and more than anything, he longed for the aforementioned strong, nasty drink…and, yes, definitely a woman. Too many new things and too many old things were happening to him all in one day, when in truth he wanted to be left alone again. He roughly fished a coin out of his pocket and held it out. “Go, Liam,” he said brusquely.
The boy stood stubbornly.
“Go.”
“Go.”
He’d said it quietly, but the word contained the dark, impersonal force of nonnegotiable command.
And Liam was someone who seemed hungry to obey someone, anyone, who seemed certain about things.
Certain about things. Ha.
Liam hesitated, fingering the coin, knowing he was being paid to leave.
And then he obeyed.
He spun and ran off, deliberately landing in a puddle to splash another passerby who turned and swore at him. Liam, as if by rote, thumbed his nose, and dodging horse carts and costermongers and walkers of the innocent and not so innocent variety, dashed off to God knew where.
Hang the bloody Mumford Arms, wherever the devil it might be, Chase decided. He wanted the kind of oblivion that took away pain and gave great pleasure, and knew just where to find it.
Chapter 5
Rosalind lingered after Chase was gone, much as one waits out aftershocks in the wake of an earthquake. He’d always tended to leave rooms feeling emptier than they’d been before he entered one. Good heavens, the Montmorency was unnaturally quiet. But it soon occurred to her….
By way of noise, there was the hiss of wax dripping into already melted wax from one of the wall sconces. And that was all. Not even the ambient creak of wood, the usual sound of a building responding to the vicissitudes of weather and age. Not even the distant echo of a footstep on marble. No voices. Clearly the thick old walls allowed in no noise from the inelegant street outside. And scarcely any air, either.
Then again, the Montmorency seemed to lack a certain
Interesting definition of a job.
“You cannot. I am not in search of an employee at the moment. I’m in search of a whiskey and a wom—a nice ale.”
He’d just then decided to add a woman to his objective.
“Though yer jus’ wanted a nasty strong drink.” Shrewdly observed.
“I’ll find one, mark my words,” Chase said grimly. He stopped abruptly. “Where the hell is this bloody pub? Did you tell me the truth about its location?”
The boy ignored the salient question. “Will ye teach me to fight?”
“No.” Chase thought it all too likely that this one would learn to fight all on his own. He looked down at the dirty boy. His eyes were so blue, Eversea blood could have caused them. Perhaps they were simply blue in contrast to the grime in the rest of his face. He stared at him for a tick.
“Do you have a name?” he heard himself ask, and regretted it immediately. This one seemed to want words as much as shillings, and he wanted nothing more to do with him.
“Aye. It’s Blade.” This was accompanied by a chin jut.
“It’s not. What is your real name?”
“Liam.” Liam seemed in awe of his own inability to not answer Chase’s questions.
Chase looked away from Liam toward the mirage-like Mumford Arms. “Do you have any brothers, Liam?” he asked gruffly. Thinking Arms. “Do you have any brothers, Liam?” he asked gruffly. Thinking this was how he’d learned to fight.
“Loads of ’em.”
He turned back. “Sisters?”
“Loads.”
Chase sighed. “How many actual brothers and sisters do you have?
”
“One sister.” Glumly admitted. He made having a sister sound like a character flaw.
Chase knew it was unfair, using his captain’s voice on a child. Still, he had no patience for prevarication.
“Your mother? Your father?”
The boy shrugged. A lift of one bony shoulder, nearly Gallic in nature. It could mean anything.
Chase suddenly felt leaden with weariness. He was weary of the boy, of the questions he’d indulged, of himself, of the day, of yesterday, of tomorrow, and more than anything, he longed for the aforementioned strong, nasty drink…and, yes, definitely a woman. Too many new things and too many old things were happening to him all in one day, when in truth he wanted to be left alone again. He roughly fished a coin out of his pocket and held it out. “Go, Liam,” he said brusquely.
The boy stood stubbornly.
“Go.”
“Go.”
He’d said it quietly, but the word contained the dark, impersonal force of nonnegotiable command.
And Liam was someone who seemed hungry to obey someone, anyone, who seemed certain about things.
Certain about things. Ha.
Liam hesitated, fingering the coin, knowing he was being paid to leave.
And then he obeyed.
He spun and ran off, deliberately landing in a puddle to splash another passerby who turned and swore at him. Liam, as if by rote, thumbed his nose, and dodging horse carts and costermongers and walkers of the innocent and not so innocent variety, dashed off to God knew where.
Hang the bloody Mumford Arms, wherever the devil it might be, Chase decided. He wanted the kind of oblivion that took away pain and gave great pleasure, and knew just where to find it.
Chapter 5
Rosalind lingered after Chase was gone, much as one waits out aftershocks in the wake of an earthquake. He’d always tended to leave rooms feeling emptier than they’d been before he entered one. Good heavens, the Montmorency was unnaturally quiet. But it soon occurred to her….
By way of noise, there was the hiss of wax dripping into already melted wax from one of the wall sconces. And that was all. Not even the ambient creak of wood, the usual sound of a building responding to the vicissitudes of weather and age. Not even the distant echo of a footstep on marble. No voices. Clearly the thick old walls allowed in no noise from the inelegant street outside. And scarcely any air, either.
Then again, the Montmorency seemed to lack a certain
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