by Megan Derr
"If you kill me he most certainly will not do whatever it is you want," Max replied. "Murder tends to complicate matters."
"You are charmingly naïve of nefarious doings," Kerr replied. "I bet it makes Church stupidly protective of you. Makes me want to break you. Behave or I will leave you here with your throat slit, and Kelcey will do my bidding to ensure the same fate does not befall your sister and her absurd little husband."
"Touch my sister—"
"And you'll do what? Scowl at me until I die of boredom?" Kerr snorted and stood up. He pulled a sealed envelope from his jacket and tucked it into the edge of Max's jacket, where it would be immediately seen by whoever chanced upon him. He then worked Max's cravat loose and stuffed it into his mouth.
Kerr patted his cheek, then left. He locked the door and shoved the key under it. Max stared at it, tried to hold fast to his anger.
But the fear was quickly overcoming it. He'd read of this precise situation in any number of those stupid books while huddled in his tent avoiding a rainstorm, or when he was simply too miserable to fall asleep. The characters in those books were always able to cut themselves loose, or work their hands free, then gathered up a discarded or secreted pistol and charged to the rescue.
Max could not do any of that. His face hurt, his stomach still ached from where that bastard had punched him, his wrists were already beginning to bruise from the rough rags and his ankles were no better. He had no way of working free or cutting himself loose. He could not even cry for help.
Even being accosted on the street by the bastards who had stolen his pistol had not been so frightening. He hadn't felt helpless.
How long was he going to be stuck there? Hopefully Mavin did not decide to go on one of her longer expeditions. If they were gone the whole day instead of only a couple of hours he would lose his mind.
The very last thing he thought he would do was fall asleep, but as the burst of energy from fear and anger abated, it was shockingly easy to close his eyes and ignore his own fear by way of a restless doze.
He jerked awake, fear ratcheting back up, when he heard a key in the lock. Tried to manage some sort of noise as it opened and Kelcey stepped in, a smile on his face as he swept the room—
"Max!" Kelcey dropped the package he was holding and bolted across the room, pulled a knife from his boot (how he had never noticed Kelcey carried a knife?), and slit the rags. Removing the one in Max's mouth, he pulled Max out of the chair and into his arms. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. Are you all right?"
Max nodded against Kelcey's chest, too busy trembling to answer.
"Come on," Kelcey said quietly, and led him over to the bed. He settled Max on the edge of it and softly kissed his brow before slipping away. Max watched him walk over to the bar and pour a small measure of gin into a glass. Returning to the bed, he pressed the glass into Max's hands. "Drink."
Max drained the glass in one smooth swallow. Dropping the glass to the floor, he glared at Kelcey. "What in the bloody fucking hell is going on? Why the fuck did I just spend the past few hours tied to a chair? Why is my life being threatened because of you?" Shoving away from Kelcey, he shuffled stiffly across the room and behind the silk screen to relieve himself.
When he was done, he stripped to the waist and went over to wash up at the basin, pouring cold water and picking up a sliver of vanilla-scented soap. He went still when Kelcey's hands covered his. "Let me call for hot water. Come here." He led Max back to the bed, caressing his face lightly, then went to the bell pull and tugged it three times.
Returning to Max again, he curled his hands over Max's shoulders. "I'm sorry. I don't—this wasn't supposed to happen."
"I would like to know what is going on," Max said. "That man, Timothy Kerr, did this to me." He frowned at the expression that flickered across Kelcey's face. "You already knew that."
Kelcey looked away, stared at the bedpost. "I knew he was mad I refused to work for him again. He's not the first one to be angry that I've retired. I thought he had finally given up, or at the very least would attack me. If I had thought for a moment he would hurt you … I never meant to put you or anyone else in danger. I'm—"
"Don't say you're sorry again. He left you a letter." Max gestured to the letter. "If you do not do what he says … he issued no explicit threat, but it was clear all the same. You told me you protected packages and people as they were delivered from one location to another! What the hell else have you lied about? Why the bloody hell does he call you Church?"
"It's the name I go by when I work. I do not share my real name, but Kerr found me out years ago. I still do not know how. But I—I quit. I never fucking wanted that life and I was happy to be able to leave it behind for good."
Max glared, anger and dread growing like a fire piled with additional logs. "You still won't tell me what you actually do."
"Whatever I am paid to do," Kelcey said. "Damn near, anyway. I'm not a killer, unless someone tries to kill me first. I don't hurt people, unless, again, they hurt me first. Mostly I am paid to steal things. Other times I am, as I said, paid to escort people, protect them. If people want something done discreetly, I will generally do it. They call me 'Church' because back when I was a 'black rat' I holed up in the attic of a derelict church. I never used my name because back then it was much better known, so everyone called me Church. I started out picking pockets, moved up to thieving and protecting the whores who worked on the corners near my church. I … picked up other jobs, came to be known for doing such work."
"You're a thief. You're a criminal. A bloody highwayman! I thought you weren't like your family." Was he insane? If he were caught the crown would hang him on the spot. Why would he entangle himself in Max's troubles when he had clearly already risked too much? "You are mad!"
Kelcey reeled back as though Max had struck him, then planted his feet like he was bracing for another blow. "I'm not my family. I was pulled out of school when I was ten and told my parents and the rest of my family had been hanged for attempting to murder the king. They branded my arm and threw me into the care of a woman who spent her nights drunk and her days unconscious. I tried to live a normal life at first, be a good boy the way everyone told me. But I couldn't afford school, and nobody would give work to a boy with a brand. And I wasn't the only starving child in that house. I started thieving because I had no choice, hid in the church so if something went wrong nothing would happen to the other children. I kept doing that work because everyone told me I no longer deserved the respectable life I wanted. It's so fucking easy for people like you to judge me and the choices I've had to make—" Kelcey snarled and turned away, ran his fingers across the tabletop. "All I wanted was to be treated like a person. I thought I had finally succeeded. I should have known better. Cease to worry, my lord. I will address this matter and trouble you no further." He stormed toward the door.
"Wait—"
But Kelcey was gone. Max rested his forehead in the palm of his hand, then got up and strode to the wardrobe, yanking clothes out and pulling them on as quickly as possible. Tugging on boots, he fumbled through the wardrobe for his pistol case and tucked one into his jacket. Pulling out his cloak, he hid the other in one of its secret pockets.
Snatching up coin, he finally abandoned the room—and nearly collided with the servant carrying a pitcher of hot water and fresh clothes. "Beg pardon," Max said. He grabbed one of the cloths, dunked it in the hot water, and kept on going, wiping his face as he went.
Room 413. That must be where Kelcey was headed.
Max took the stairs as quickly as he could manage without knocking himself right down them. On the fourth floor, he headed down the hall marked for the second set of ten rooms. Shouting. As well as the rooms were built, he could still hear shouting. Was Kelcey in danger? He was one of the voices, but Max could not picture anyone getting the better of him.
He froze as a door swung open and Kelcey appeared—and froze mid-step as he saw Max. "You bloody idiot," he snarled, and barreled down th
e hall toward him, grabbing him by the arm and hauling him along. "I'm going to kill you."
"It seems to me there are already plenty of people—"
"Shut up," Kelcey snarled. It was not a tone he had ever used before, so … cold and mean. Max shut up.
He swore when Kelcey yanked him back into the stairwell, tripping into the wall, dropping the wet cloth he still held. "Slow down!" he snapped, tripping again as he was hauled up the stairs. "I do not have your legs, Kelcey. Please!"
Kelcey did not reply, but he did slow down, if only barely.
It was not until they had stopped that Max realized they were on Mavin's floor. Yanking Max close, eyes so furious Max could not recall any of the things he had wanted to say, Kelcey said, "Get your sister and Gerard and get the hell out of here. Do not pause until you are safely away. Trust no one. Go where you are exceedingly familiar with the surroundings. Never go out alone in public, be certain you only retain staff you trust and keep that staff to a minimum. Do not stay in hotels or other such lodgings. Am I understood?"
"Y-yes," Max said. "Kelcey—" He stopped as Kelcey pressed a kiss to his cheek, and before he could regain his impossibly scattered wits he had run off again. "Damn it, Kelcey! You can't just run off!"
Kelcey whipped around. "I am going to attend matters and put all back as it should be. I cannot do that without running off."
"I mean—come back. Don't die, don't get hurt, don't leave me wondering what the hell has happened to you. I don't—don't think less of you. Just come back."
Kelcey nodded, then whirled away again.
What the hell kind of answer was that? Snarling in frustration, Max pounded on his sister's door, wishing he could more than run away.
Chapter Eleven
The rain was pounding down, hell-bent on flooding the city, when he returned home. Storm clouds were so thick and heavy in the sky it might as well have been midnight, though it was only early evening. Max headed directly for the Starr Club, grateful when he reached it to be out of the wet and cold and no longer moving.
"Thank you," he said to the staff as they took his sodden coat and bustled him upstairs to where a fresh change of clothes awaited him and a potent hot toddy was quickly brought. When he was feeling moderately more human, he asked the footman gathering up his wet clothes, "Has my guest arrived yet?"
"Yes, my lord. Waiting downstairs in the library."
Max nodded and, carrying his hot toddy with him, headed down to the library. A woman sat by the fireplace, dressed in a dark umber wool gown accented with black and gold lace. Her black hair was pulled back in a severe chignon, dark amber gleaming at her ears and in the folds of silk at her throat. She looked up as she heard noise and rose, smiling warmly at him. "Lord Max."
"Lady Charmaine," Max greeted. "It's been a long time. Thank you again for agreeing to assist me."
She laughed and kissed his cheek before resuming her seat, picking up a glass of sherry from the floor beside her on the overlarge ottoman where she sat. "As though I could ever resist helping the charming Maximillian Honeysett. You were always sweet, even though your sister and I did our level best to drive you mad." Firelight glowed on her light brown skin. "I do admit I was surprised that you have need of my rather unusual connections. Dare I ask how my sweet little Lord Max came to cross paths with the likes of Church and Timothy Kerr?"
"It's a long story."
"My favorite kind," Charmaine said, grinning in that impish way of hers over the rim of her glass. That tendency toward impishness had been what first drew Mavin to her, had made them lovers for a couple of years before they faded into a much stronger friendship. After Max, there was no one who knew Mavin better than Charmaine. "Though by now I believe I know a good bit of it."
Shaking his head, Max related all that had transpired since his return home up until that terrible moment when Kelcey had vanished into the stairwell and vanished from Max's life for the past two months.
"My, my, and I thought our school days were exciting."
Max looked at her, tone wry as he replied, "I would think being married to a woman who barely escaped the noose for her pirating escapades would be a trifle more exciting than my madcap marriage."
"I admit it's all a good deal less exciting when you are the one at the heart of the mess," Charmaine replied with a wry smile. "These days we are quite content to get our excitement secondhand."
Max sighed. "I have certainly had my fill. What can you tell me about Timothy Kerr?" He wanted to ask about Kelcey as well, but it felt too much like prying into Kelcey's private affairs. He had already driven Kelcey away with his careless words. He would not compound his sins.
Charmaine regarded him thoughtfully, and as always she seemed to see more than any one person should. "Kerr is trouble. Not the worst I've ever encountered, but damned close. The man is the very definition of despot. He started young, kept it simple, smuggling dragon blood and other dubious substances. Plenty of money to be made there if one is smart about it, and Kerr has always been a little too smart for anyone's liking. Unfortunately, he eventually moved on to smuggling people. That, of course, will not be tolerated. We went after him. Managed to break up the smuggling ring and execute a good many of the bastards involved. Unfortunately, Kerr got away and we haven't been able to get close to him since. Rumors have had him operating in various cities, attached to several smuggling rings and suspected of a slew of murders. We've been unable to definitively tie him to anything, unfortunately. We cannot even pin him down long enough to confirm it is him. Of course you and Mavin would manage to stumble headlong into the man I've been trying to catch for the past ten years." She finished off her sherry, then leaned down to retrieve the crystal decanter on the floor and refilled her glass. "I do wish you had just put a round right between his eyes."
Max made a face. "No one wishes that more than me, except perhaps Kelcey."
"Kelcey Moore … Church is the only man more elusive than Kerr, and he's been right under my nose this entire time. The little bastard. You have the devil's luck, Max." Her mouth curved. "I was a touch jealous that Mavin would probably be taking that to her marriage bed. Not that I've complaints, but he is quite the figure. I suppose I shall have to be jealous of you now, hmm? Is he worth all this strife, Max?"
"Yes," Max said. "Though not for the lecherous reasons flitting through your head. I am beginning to remember why you and Mavin got along so well. Why are all of her friends and associates as filthy-minded as she?"
She laughed. "Why would Mav spend time with people who do not share her brand of humor? It would end in disaster. But I admit most of the fun is in teasing you, which you make so easy to do."
"Tell me about Kelcey," Max said, rolling his eyes and finishing off his toddy. After a brief pondering of pros and cons, and ultimately deciding he did not bloody care, he helped himself to Charmaine's sherry.
"The most elusive man in the country. Church, so-called because he originally operated from Our Lady of Peace in the Halebore district. But also because he has morals and sticks to them. He will take almost any job for the right price, but refuses to harm or kill despite those being the most lucrative way of making money. He has stolen, smuggled, spied, and more. But he will not murder, and he refuses to harm children in any way. He has been known to walk away from a job because children would be hurt, even though it marred his reputation and often brought him harm. The criminal with a heart. He has helped us out a time or twenty, when we cross paths, though we've never actually gotten a look at him. I've never spoken with him directly, always worked through an intermediary. If any of my people know his face they have never admitted it." She slapped her thigh. "The cheek! He sat at my supper table! I could smack him or kiss him; I do not know which."
"Neither," Max replied. "I'll attend to both, I promise you. But I need to be able to find him first."
Charmaine smiled then, slow and sharp, tilting her head back. "Leave that to me, sweet. You've given me more information on two very interest
ing men than my own people have been able to provide despite years of trying. It will take time, but they will be found and returned to their proper places. Now, I believe I have work to be getting on with, and you've an appointment with the crown."
"Unfortunately," Max said, making a face. He had been more than happy to forget the second reason he'd come to the Starr Club. "I never thought one broken engagement could cause so much trouble."
"Tell Lady Mavin the next time she decides to elope, perhaps she should not do so with someone already engaged to a princess with a powerful, short-tempered king for a father. I wish Mavin had come to me with all this; I could have made life much simpler for everyone."
Max shrugged. "Mavin is so accustomed to solving her own problems, I doubt it occurred to her. Even if she had the thought, she would have dismissed it to protect you. It does seem a trifle overmuch to ask a spymaster to assist with an elopement."
"Spymaster, so dramatic." She set her glass aside and rose. Max did the same, and took her hands when she held them out. "I expect you'll hear from me in a few weeks, but know this may take months to bring to a close, Max. Kerr and Moore will lead me on a merry chase, I have no doubt. I think, however, you will be busy enough with matters of your own that the time shall pass quickly." She leaned in and kissed his cheek.
Max kissed hers in turn. "Thank you, Charmaine."
"No thanks necessary," she said with a faint smile. It faded off as she continued, "Is Church truly worth all this to you, Max? You've but known him a matter of months, and he's been gone these past two. Surely that has been time enough to … think more clearly?"
"Certainly," Max replied. All he did was think: about how quiet his life had become, how long and dull his days. How cold and empty his bed was without Kelcey. He had attempted to hide from his thoughts by losing himself in his work, only to find science was no longer the refuge it had once been. "He's worth all this and more. That is why I finally wrote to you."