Jack shook his head. Here we go. “I can’t imagine.”
George leaned forward, his thin lips quivering. “I was the governor. They relied on me to lead them. And I did. But the savages surrounded us, threatening to kill us. And the colonists didn’t want to farm. The King sent us with a bunch of bloody jewelers. What were we supposed to do with jewelers?” Another nasal guffaw, like a ship’s horn. “They thought we’d find rivers of gold in the New World. But there was nothing here but death, disease, and starvation.” He shot Jack a pointed look. “It was before I had the spell books.”
Jack nodded solemnly. “The world is fortunate you survived.” He was going to talk about the shoe next.
“The starving time, they call it. I’ll never forget it. There I was, a direct descendant of Sir Harry Hotspur, trying to eat through my own leather shoe.” A mirthless chuckle escaped his lips. “We were a bunch of desperate skeletons, slowly going mad.” He sank into the sofa, his eyes tearing up. “And then we ate Rebecca. Only fourteen, she must have been. So pretty. Would have made a nice wife.”
“Right. But you had to eat her.” Maybe there was some way to hurry this along.
George’s face brightened. “Yes, that’s true. We had to. The colonists were halfway in the grave, and I was their caretaker, being of superior breeding.” He nodded thoughtfully. “That filthy colonist John Smith had spent time with the Báthory family in Hungary. It was there he learned that human flesh and blood could revitalize a person. So, we did what we had to do.” A grin creased his face as he stared out the window. “And it did make me feel alive.” He sighed and pulled out his pocket watch, tracing his fingers over the back. “It was lucky my brother’s spell books helped me refine things, so that we might be young and vigorous, like wild stallions.” He looked at Jack with a simple smile. “A new wife would be proud to call me her husband, robust as I am.”
“I don’t doubt it. Speaking of watches—” Jack pulled his own out of his pocket. “—mine isn’t working so well. I can’t control the hunger.”
He could see by George’s glazed eyes that he was still lost in Jamestown, and the pseudo-Earl tucked his feet further under himself. “Pryse, the scoundrel’s name was. He blamed the gods for our misfortunes, raving through the dirt streets that we’d been abandoned. He got what was coming to him. The gods sent a wolf to destroy him. Ripped open his bowels in the wood when he was searching for berries.” He flared his nostrils. “One thing you can’t lose is your dignity, no matter what happens. I know that better than anyone.”
Jack raised his eyebrows. “It’s fortunate you were able to keep your wits, Lord Percy.” Another lie. Anyone but George himself could see there had never been a Pryse. Just an insane Percy, ranting in the dirt when the depredations had broken his spirit. Really, his unconscious should have come up with a more subtle alias.
The Earl blinked his small brown eyes as though waking. “What were you saying?”
Jack’s stomach churned with hunger, as though he were being eaten by a wolf himself. He forced his most charming smile. “I’m having a bit of trouble with my watch. I can’t control the hunger anymore. And then there was the succubus.”
George smirked. “Pretty one, was she? Almost makes it worth the draining.”
Jack rubbed the bridge of his nose, marshaling his patience. “You know, I still haven’t seen the wretched demon.”
“Hand it over.” George held out his hand, suddenly alert. “Do you have any other important business in the area?”
Finally, we’re getting somewhere. He dropped the watch in the Earl’s hand. “I do, actually. I think I have a masked ball to attend, once I’m feeling myself again. But I have a suspicion I may need some extra strength for it. There might be a bit of trouble.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
Thomas
Thomas lay flat on the chipped stone, his arms trembling with fatigue. He’d managed to sleep for a few hours, waking with a throbbing pain in his head in the bright daylight. Dried blood crusted around his fingernails, a relic of his attempt to smash through the floor in a frenzy of metal against stone. He’d managed to bash in the Scorpio mark, but that was as far as his iron bar had taken him.
Seven points… The rhythm of the words still called to him, fainter now. He rubbed his eyes, sitting up against the wall. There was a pattern here. He just had to find it. Panic rattled him as he wondered if the arrow on the Scorpio sign had pointed to something important. He’d lost it now.