Tarnished Knight - By Bec McMaster Page 0,16

could breathe through it. Looking up, he sucked in a lungful of air and scraped his hand over his face. Come on, you ugly brute, he snarled to himself. The quicker you do this, the quicker you can get after the Slashers.

And that was enough to choke down the last desperate grip of it. Fury rose. Nothing he hated more than Slashers.

With cold purpose burning in his chest, he straightened himself to his full height and started down the stairs. Halfway down they creaked and the stifled sobs froze. Not even a breath now.

He could smell the blood, splashes of red darkening his vision. Rip took each step precisely, looking around at the small kitchen. Two rooms branched off it. A veritable manor here in Whitechapel.

“I ain’t goin’ to ‘urt you,” he called. The silence had a listening feel to it. “I’m one o’ Blade’s men.”

Nothing. Only a ragged heartbeat thumping wildly in the dark. He pinpointed its location – beneath the floorboards – and stepped slowly toward it. The rug in the middle of the floor was skewed. A man lay on the bare timber near it, his blank eyes staring at nothing. No doubt he’d bought his child’s life with his death.

The remains of a meal rested on the table, cold herring pie congealing on the tin plates. The knife and fork at the head of the table were placed beside the plate in an orderly manner, the chair tucked back in. The other two seats were scraped back from the table, one fork lying forlornly on the floor.

Rip examined the room. One of the paintings near the door hung skewed. A fight then. He bent low, examining the man’s body and trying not to breathe too deeply as he pieced together what had happened. Someone had knocked at the door. The man got up to open it, and judging by his bruised knuckles, realized what was standing there as soon as he had it open. He fought, which gave the other two enough time to shove away from the table. Maybe for the mother to hide her child in the small trapdoor beneath the rug.

The woman’s screaming absence told the story. Rip’s gut dropped like lead. Another one missing. But why hadn’t they taken the child?

Panicked breathing sounded beneath his feet. Rip dragged the rug back and spread it over the man’s body. There was no sign of a lock on the square-cut trapdoor. Which meant it was locked from the inside.

Perhaps the Slashers had seen him out there on the rooftops, or didn’t want to waste the time?

Or perhaps they’d gotten what they wanted. He was starting to remember who’d lived here now, a nice young couple with a tow-headed daughter. Oliver Tanner, his wife Annie and their daughter…Meggie? Maggie? No, definitely Meggie. Peeking out from behind her father’s leg when he came to pay his tithe to Blade for the cost of protection.

Sure as rain, there would be a pair of crossed daggers over the lintel.

Another message. Another taunt.

We can take any you claim to protect.

Rip sank onto the floor beside the trapdoor. “Meggie?” he called softly, trying to lower his voice as much as possible. “Meggie, I need you to open the door. I’m ‘ere to ‘elp you.”

Another shuddery sob.

“Won’t ‘urt you,” he said. “I’ll take you back to Blade’s place, where you’ll be safe. Can’t naught get at you there.” Silence. “Please, Meggie. Open the door.”

He could tear it apart. He had the strength now. But he knew what it was like to hide in the dark, knowing that your only safety lay in the thin bit of wood from a cupboard door. He wouldn’t take that away from her. He wouldn’t add more nightmares to those she undoubtedly had.

“Meggie, I can’t find your mother,” he called. “I need to get you away from ‘ere so I can go look for ‘er. You want that, don’t you? You want me to try and find ‘er?”

“They took her--” A choked voice blurted. “I could ‘ear ‘er screamin’.”

Rip listened to her frightened sob. “I’m gonna go after ‘em, sweet’eart. I just need you to let me in.”

Silence. Then a lock snicked.

Rip let out the breath he’d been holding. “Okay, luv. I’m goin’ to open ‘er up. Don’t be frightened.” He wet his lips. Her fear was a heady thing. “I know I look mean, but I’m only mean to them as deserves it.”

Slowly he tugged the iron ring from the floor, lifting the edge of