took a deep breath. “I won’t breathe a word of it,” she murmured. “Come, I’ll see you to the door. Bring your thralls back here tomorrow at one o’clock, and I’ll inject them with the vaccination if they’re willing. Tell them it’s an inoculation against smallpox or something.”
“I will.”
The pair of them left the room below and Lena slowly sat up, the cool, ripe air of the rookery spilling around her.
What a discovery to make. She didn’t feel the slightest bit guilty for eavesdropping as Honoria never told her anything important, but she couldn’t help raking a shaky hand down her face.
Below her the door opened and Barrons stepped out into the brick yard at the back of the rookery. He was far enough away that Lena couldn’t hear what was said between him and someone on the stoop – Honoria no doubt.
Taking refuge behind a chimney, Lena worked a pebble-sized piece of brick loose and waited until he strode out into the street. Then, with an aim that would have done most young boys proud, she threw it directly at the back of his head.
***
Will Carver stalked along the streets with his hands shoved in his pockets, people eddying away from him as if he were surrounded by an invisible aura of violence. Wearing a scowl, he ignored most of them and tried to forget the itch under his skin.
An itch that an hour’s walk couldn’t scratch. Probably not even an afternoon’s session in Blade’s boxing saloon.
Ahead of him, a rum gent stepped out through the brick arch that led into the yard behind the Warren. Will stopped in his tracks as they both dodged each other. Barrons.
“A long time, Carver,” Barrons nodded to him with the slightest tilt of his head. He looked distracted and Will could smell blood and chemicals on him.
Honoria’s laboratory then. For a second he wondered if Blade knew. Then the thought dissolved. Of course his master knew. No doubt he’d encouraged it. Blade liked to meddle too much, and only Will knew of the strained relationship between Honoria and Barrons and the cause for it. Not that either of them knew that.
Dark eyes met his. “It seems I shall be coming back tomorrow,” Barrons replied. “Do you think I could bring the carriage through Ratcatcher Gate?”
“If you want,” Will replied, his lips twitching. His lordship didn’t like getting his boots dirty, if Will recalled. Though he would if required. That was one of the only reasons he tolerated the other man’s presence. That and the fact that Barrons didn’t speak to him like he was a piece of shit beneath his heel, like most blue bloods. He actually treated Will as if he were a man and not verwulfen. “Though it seems mighty charitable.”
“Charitable?”
“You bring your fancy carriage in here,” Will waved a hand to indicate the rookery. “And there won’t be much gilt left on it by the end of the visit.”
“Blade growing soft in his old age?” There was teasing glint in the other man’s eye that took the edge from the words.
Nobody mocked his master. But Barrons had helped saved Blade’s life and the pair of them had an odd relationship. Allies that competed in most matters. Or two cocks in the same yard, if one were to be more accurate.
“He’s granted you passage through the ‘Chapel,” Will corrected. “That ain’t mean you got his protection.”
The idea of being under Blade’s protection almost made the other man’s cheeks colour in indignation. Then he smiled. “You’re jesting me.”
It wasn’t a question. Will shrugged, feeling a smile creep across his face. “Tomorrow you can walk. Same as any other gent here.”
“I’ll see you tomorrow then,” Barrons replied.
Turning around, Will started through the arch. He caught a flash of yellow skirts out of the corner of his vision and looked up at the roof, his body stiffening instinctively. Hell. Then a piece of brick whistled past.
“Barrons!” he snapped.
Both of them spun, Barrons snatching the piece of brick out of the air, his stance defensive. Will instantly recognised him as who knew how to fight, despite his fancy black velvet frock coat and the glittering ruby rings on his fingers.
Barrons examined the brick piece, tension slowly ebbing out of his shoulders as he realised nothing else had followed it. “Someone who doesn’t like blue bloods.” His gaze raked the streets as he tossed the brick piece up and down in his hand. An eerie flash of darkness swept through his eyes. A hint of