Tarq needed no spurring. Like a projectile from a trebuchet, he set off at a gallop, his ears flat back, four legs flying, his mighty hooves beating an irresistible thunderous rhythm upon the hard-packed earth.
Caught up in the pure joy of the moment, Vadim laughed out loud. It seemed like forever since he’d last ventured from the restrictive confines of the castle. Such freedom as this was intoxicating.
Away in the distance, he saw a low shimmering haze hovering over the rooftops of the town which had adopted the castle’s name: Edgeway.
Suddenly, Vadim was aware of another horse closing in fast on his right-hand side. Seth, of all people! It was good to see the older man riding again instead of perched in his usual spot on the seat of a wagon.
Grunting with exertion, Seth’s gray beast attempted to nose ahead of its stablemate. Vadim turned, grinning at the man who’d been his father for so many years.
“Is it a race you want, old friend?” The wind whipped the words from Vadim’s mouth, but Seth had heard him clearly enough. The blaze of challenge in his eyes was unmistakable.
“Aye, if you’re up to it, boy!”
Boy? Oh, he’d pay dearly for that remark. Leaning low over Tarq’s glistening neck, Vadim gave the animal permission to fly.
On and on they galloped, lost in a fast-moving blur of thunder. They did not stop until they reached the furthest outskirts of town when the thick market-day traffic forced them back into a walk. Lumbering wagons trundled wearily down the deeply-rutted road, and ahead in the distance, a lone shepherd and his dog could be seen herding a flock of bleating sheep toward town.
Proceeding at a sedate walk, Vadim and Seth continued to ride on side by side. Carefully picking a path through the various wagons and foot-traffic, they paused occasionally in order to exchange a word or two with a familiar face, or to acknowledge the occasional cheery greeting or a shout of congratulation with a nod and a smile.
When Vadim glanced back the way they had come, he saw Anselm alone at the back of the pack. Even from this distance, his brother looked pale, his expression pained.
After such a prolonged period of inactivity, why had he decided to start pushing himself so hard? Realizing that Vadim watched him, Anselm raised his arm in greeting and pushed his horse into an unsteady jog, overtaking the other riders until he finally arrived at Vadim’s side.
“What an invigorating day for a ride!” he declared. “Most enjoyable, indeed.”
“You look terrible,” Vadim told him because he really did look ghastly.
“Nonsense. The fresh air and exercise have done me nothing but good.”
Anselm’s skin was clammy and rather gray. However, because his brother seemed determined to be cheerful, Vadim had not the heart to say more upon the subject.
Seth fell back to speak with the man behind him leaving Anselm to take his place at Vadim’s side. Together, they rode along in amicable silence, braving the jostling of the thick market day traffic. At length they came to a fork in the road and Anselm suddenly reined in his horse.
“Regrettably, this is where our paths must part.”
“Oh?” Vadim frowned and halted beside him. “Where are you going?” He wasn’t happy about Anselm setting off on his own. The open road could be a dangerous place at the best of times, especially for someone as unpopular as Anselm. Then there was the concern of his uncertain health, for Anselm was a far frailer version of the man he used to be.
“’Tis nothing. Just a small matter of personal business I need to attend to.”
“Aye. Buying himself a shag, no doubt.” Vadim heard one of the other men saying, making no attempt to be discreet. “None of the castle whores will go anywhere near the bastard, not for all the gold in Edgeway. Seems even whores have their standards.”
Furious, Vadim quickly turned in his saddle, silencing the unfortunate fellow with an icy glare.
But Anselm, however, seemed remarkably unconcerned by the insult. “How like you, Jenkins, thinking with your cock as always. Alas, but your guess is way off.”
Beckoning to Anselm, Vadim drew him a short distance away from the rest of the pack so that they could speak privately. “So, where are you going?”
“I’d rather not say. Not yet. ’Tis more of a… feeling, I suppose, rather than a definite destination.”
“Ah. I see.” During her extended stay in Edgeway, Ma had finally confirmed what Vadim had long suspected: Anselm had inherited her gift of The Sight. “So you’re off hunting a vision?”
“Something like that,” Anselm suddenly looked flushed and a little embarrassed. “Since you clearly know my secret, I would appreciate your discretion, brother. Let the men believe I am on the hunt for a bit of skirt if they have a mind to. Truth be told, it’s better for my image if they do.”
“Of course.”
“And please, make no mention of this to Fath— I mean, Seth.” Anselm scratched his horse’s dark mane until the animal quivered in ecstasy. “I’d never live it down.”
Vadim extended his hand. “You have my word.”
“Good enough. Then all that remains is for me to wish you good hunting and bid you farewell.” After briefly clasping Vadim’s hand, without bothering to take his leave of anyone else, Anselm set off down the left-hand fork in the road.
“Where’s he off to, then?” Seth asked, reining in beside Vadim again. Together, they watched Anselm depart.
“He didn’t say.” At least that was the truth.
“You don’t think he’d be fool enough to go to Darumvale, do you? The villagers would likely lynch him if he ever showed his face back there.”
“Then let us hope he doesn’t,” Vadim replied. “Although your concern for your son does you credit.”
“Oh, I am not in the least concerned.” Seth answered a little too quickly. “At least, not for him. I just don’t want him upsetting anyone, that’s all. He’s already caused enough damage there as it is.” Despite his words, Seth seemed reluctant to meet Vadim’s eyes. Instead, he watched his son shrinking away into the distance.
Vadim sighed. “Will the two of you ever forge any real peace, I wonder.”
“I doubt it. Some wounds run too deep. Come on!” Seth said, forcing his voice to brightness. “Let us ride on and leave Anselm to whatever mischief he’s up to, eh?”
Their trail, tenuous as it was, went cold in Edgeway. ’Twas just as Vadim had feared.
Clever Fergus. If he had come to Edgeway, then there was no better place for concealment than within the crowded streets of a busy town, especially with Effie in tow. Vadim would have probably done the same thing. Going to ground here was a wise move.
In order to cover more ground, the hunting party split up into several smaller groups on the understanding that they would regroup at noon, meeting up at the Abel’s Rest—a large inn situated at the other end of town—in order to exchange news as they took their noonday refreshment.
After several hours of fruitless searching, braving the continuous crush of slow-moving traffic of people and livestock, the news was always the same. No one had anything to tell of Fergus and Effie.
“Hmmph,” Reynard grunted, his eyes fixed on one of the tavern maids as she carefully wound her way between the packed tables, smiling and laughing as she went, with a large tray of tankards held expertly over her head. “That’s that then. Well, there’s nothing else for it. I shall just have to call upon the chit’s mother. Her house isn’t far from here, or so I believe.”
Effie’s infamous mother. Mrs. Wilkes. The proprietor of a popular local brothel. The woman whom Fergus might one day call Mother. Effie had always claimed to be estranged from the rest of her family. Even so, her mother’s house was the obvious place to seek news of the runaways.
On overhearing Reynard’s plans, a couple of the men smirked and snickered together. Judging by their expressions, the pair w
ere already well acquainted with Mrs. Wilkes and her salubrious establishment.
“Will you be needing volunteers, m’lord?” one of the men asked, attempting to keep a straight face. “I would go in your stead, and gladly.”
“That will not be necessary, thank you, Waters,” Reynard replied with smooth civility, as though he were politely declining an invitation to dinner. “Lord Edgeway, Seth, and myself will make that particular call whilst you and your men disband and ask more questions about town.”
When someone groaned, Reynard added. “Oh, by the way, I’m not sure if I mentioned it, but there are fifty silver pieces for the man who brings me word of my son’s whereabouts. Does that sound agreeable to you, gentlemen?”
At once there was a mass scraping of wooden chairs and benches as the men scrambled to their feet in unison, suddenly extremely keen to get back to work.
“Extremely agreeable, m’lord,” the captain said with a small bow and a large grin. “Most generous indeed.”
“Might I suggest you contain your enthusiasm until after we’ve finished eating, hmm?” Vadim asked with a wry smile. “I see the rest of our lunch is about to be brought over.”
After being well-fed and watered, the men were eager to resume their duties. Arranging to meet up again at dusk, their little company quickly dispersed into Edgeway’s narrow streets.
“Fifty silver pieces?” Seth cried incredulously once the three of them were alone. “That’s rather excessive, don’t you think?”
“To reclaim my only son and heir?” Reynard arched one silvery eyebrow. “I think not. I’d pay thrice that sum for the safe return of my boy. Wouldn’t any man of means do the same thing?”
“Hah.” Seth grunted. “I certainly wouldn’t!”
“Any man,” Reynard said, rolling his eyes skyward “with a son as beloved as mine.”
“Oh.” Seth flushed to the roots of his hair. “In that case, you could be right. As for myself, I would pay the exact same sum for someone to rid me of my troublesome son.”
“Seth!” Vadim couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “Surely you cannot be serious?”
“Ah, but I am, m’lord. No father was ever cursed with a more unwanted son.”
It was as though all the tenderness Seth had displayed whilst Anselm was unconscious in his sick bed had never happened at all. Vadim shook his head but said nothing. All he wanted was to return to Martha and the babies. His new family was the only relationship that truly mattered to him now.
“Are you familiar with the location of Mrs. Wilkes’ bordello, Vadim?” Reynard asked.
Vadim arched his eyebrows meaningfully.
“Forgive me,” Reynard gave a brief laugh. “I certainly did not mean to imply you knew the woman in her professional capacity. I merely wondered which street—”
“I know where her house is—yes,” Vadim answered swiftly before Reynard could dig himself any deeper into the hole he’d begun. “Shall we go?” The sooner they got this visit over with, the sooner Vadim would be back home again.
Seth feigned a wounded expression. “Fine. Though I’m quite offended you didn’t think to ask me for the directions, Reynard. I’m not dead yet, you know.”
As the three companions stepped out of the market-day bustle, a heavy silence descended upon them.
Mrs. Wilkes’s house was to be found in one of the better areas of the worst part of town.
Even full daylight couldn’t banish all of the shadows that clung to this narrow street. Mismatched buildings of all descriptions lined both sides of the thoroughfare—tall and thin; short and squat—their unkempt facades were the only commonality they shared. Ugly dwelling places huddled together so tightly they all but obscured the sun.
Vadim drew the deep hood of his cloak over his head, concealing his features. Even Lord Edgeway had need to be cautious in this place. The rich and the powerful made soft, easy prey for the many vagabonds who’d taken up residence here during the last earl’s reign. Another reeking nest of villainy in a town that was full of them. Over the coming months, Vadim planned to eradicate the steady advance of creeping decay from all parts of Edgeway, but it would be no easy task. The roots of the underworld had burrowed too deeply and taken too firm a hold.
Reynard grimaced as he stepped in something unpleasant. “What a noxious place this is,” he complained, scraping the sole of his boot on the kerb. “Oh yes, Fergus,” he mumbled aloud to himself. “Of course I approve of your bride. What father wouldn’t be proud to welcome such a woman into the family?”
“Lower your voice, Reynard” Vadim growled. He glanced about him, one hand lightly resting upon the hilt of his sword, for once irritated with his friend. “This is neither the time nor place to display your ruffled feathers. It would serve you better to recall the man you used to be before you assumed the identity of Lord Upton.”
Over recent months, Reynard had eagerly embraced his new role as the Duke of Upton, that and all the luxury accompanying this noble title. Perhaps a little too eagerly?
Vadim’s sharply-spoken words, however, proved to be the mental slap Reynard needed. His face registered a brief flash of surprise and suddenly he was himself again.
The better part of him. The outlaw.
“Forgive me, my friends.” He turned to include Seth in his apology. “I am just that worried about my boy I can barely think in a straight line.”
“Think nothing of it,” Seth said, stumbling as a cat-shaped blur streaked across his path. “Bloody thing!”
Vadim shook his head. So much for stealth. He would have done better to have come alone. Leaving his friends to follow as they would, he set off at a brisk pace, heading for the tallest building at the far end of the street, his boot-steps echoing loudly.
His senses were alert, finely attuned to the prospect of danger. Not everything in this street was as it first seemed. Indeed, some of the darkest shadows were actually living beings. Insensible drunks, or men posted as sentries, Vadim didn’t wait to find out.
Proceeding with caution, he kept one hand on his sword, conscious of Seth and Reynard conversing quietly as they followed on behind.
There it was at last. Mrs. Wilkes’s residence.
Pausing before the lofty, crooked building, Vadim took a moment to survey the dilapidated exterior while he waited for his companions to catch up. Not a single friendly shard of light spilled out from any of the tightly-shuttered windows.
No sound from within. Not the merest hint of life.
“This is the place?” Reynard asked, coming to stand at Vadim’s side.
“Yes.”
“You’re certain?” Vadim could not blame Reynard for being suspicious for there was no signage or anything else to imply that a house of ill repute lay hidden within this building’s crumbling walls.
You had to know the house to know it was there. A contradiction, perhaps, but true nonetheless. Only those already familiar with the house would ever know it was a place of vice and gaming and iniquity.
“Quite certain.” Glad he’d worn his least conspicuous clothes for this particular jaunt, Vadim stepped beneath the dark portico and ascended the steep, uneven steps. The deep grooves worn into the stone giving silent evidence of all the countless feet that had made the very same journey, the foot traffic of so many lives and years.
But this was not the time for such whimsical thoughts as these. Upon reaching the somewhat weathered front door, Vadim lifted the stout metal knocker and rapped upon it hard, three times. Then, stepping back, he waited.
Nothing. Just the sound of Reynard’s delicate sniffs as the portico’s unsubtle reek of stale urine and old vomit fully invaded his nostrils
Vadim was about to knock again when he heard the approach of slow, heavy footsteps from within. Suddenly, a small peephole opened in the door, flooding the portico with a narrow beam of light, and a pair of sus
picious eyes peered out, regarding the three of them with suspicion.
“Whaddya want?” the eyes demanded.
“Good day to you. We seek an audience with Mrs. Wilkes.”
“And just who is it as wants to speak to ’er?”
Drawing back his shoulders, Vadim flipped back his hood, deciding to play his earl card. “Lord Edgeway, his steward, and the Duke of Upton.” Injecting his voice with appropriate authority he continued, “Kindly tell your mistress we have come on a matter of great urgency.”
At the sound of such noble names, the door-guard’s eyes widened. “Oh… yes. Right away, m’lord.”
There came the metallic sliding sound of several sturdy bolts and suddenly the door swung open, the candlelight from within brightly illuminating the filthy portico. A bald, stockily-built fellow stood before them. He was roughly as tall as he was wide, the dark red tunic he wore straining at its seams with the effort of containing the man’s not-inconsiderable mass.
“Sorry, m’lords. I dint recognize you. Please. Come in.” With a grand sweep of his hairy hand, the man beckoned them inside.
Moments later, he closed and re-bolted the door behind them.
Chapter Five
The moment he was alone, Anselm slumped in his saddle and pressed his fist as hard as he could into the throbbing ache at his side. Groaning with agonized bliss, he massaged his screaming muscles, the thin line between agony and ecstasy blurred with the torturous joy of it all.
By the spirits, his side hurt like buggery. All that galloping and keeping up appearances had cost him dear, but at least no one had guessed how much he suffered. Or so he hoped.
Little by little, the terrible, breath-stealing spasm in his side began to ease its iron-hard grip and he could finally move again.
Clicking to his horse, they set off again, their pace little more than an ambling walk. Exhaling the lingering tension from his muscles, Anselm dropped his reins for a moment so that he could stretch his arms skyward. Gradually, he began to relax.
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