“Why not?”
Top Hat took a deep breath and looked at the faces around him. He lighted on Hadrian’s for a moment before turning back to Royce. “Reason we’re looking for Rose is on account of the quarter sheriffs are looking, and they’re looking because the high constable wants her. He and a few of his featherheads paid a personal visit here asking questions about Rose. They want her—bad. Suggested we look real hard. They were very … insistent.” He rubbed his scarred cheek. “To show he wasn’t joking, His Lordship took three of my boys and hung them in Gentry Square. Never accused them of nothing, just gave them a swing.” He pulled the brim of his hat down and sighed. “No, sir, the greats are serious about this one, and you’d be smart to steer clear.”
“Do you know who beat Gwen?”
“ ’Course I do.”
“Who is he?”
“No one to play with. Trust me, this is one party you don’t want an invitation to. The gods are warring and the best we mortals can do is try not to get noticed.”
“I wasn’t planning on being noticed,” Royce said, his eyes fixed on the small man with the big hat before him. Hadrian didn’t think he’d even blinked during the whole conversation.
“Out of your league, cutthroat.”
“How do you know?”
“You sound tough.” Top Hat nodded. “You walked into my den, we have you circled—no way out—but I ain’t smelled fear. You get marks for that. I’m not joking about letting you join. Him too.” He pointed at Hadrian. “I like a man who knows how to stay quiet. Besides, I just lost three boys. With my luck it’ll be four before the cock crows. So, sure, maybe you’re a killer. Maybe you’re even one of the BD’s fabled bucket men. The Jewel’s ghosts-with-a-blade, but this guy…” He let the comment linger, then shook his head. “Uh-uh. This guy is beyond anyone.”
“Everyone has to die.”
Top Hat rubbed his chin. “Have to admit I wouldn’t mind seeing him pay after what he done to my boys. We have a history that goes back a long way. But no one can touch him.”
“Who is he?”
“Same bastard who beat me bloody the same night and who hung my boys for no more reason than to make a point—the Marquis of East March, Lord Simon Exeter, High Constable of Melengar.” Top Hat shook his head. “Have to admit I was flattered His Lordship made a personal appearance down here, but I’d rather he hadn’t. If you’re smart, you’ll forget all about this, before you learn what real trouble is.”
“So where are we going?” Hadrian asked as they dodged a lumber cart and walked back up Paper Street.
“To talk to Gwen.”
“But she refused to see us.”
“And I respected her privacy, but that was before I knew why.”
“And why is that?”
“You really need to walk faster.” For such a large man, it often surprised Royce how slow Hadrian’s long legs could be. They turned right at the portrait painter’s shop and veered toward the Lower Quarter once more.
“Why doesn’t she want to see us?”
“She’s trying to save our lives again.”
The man on the porch of Medford House laughed and Royce took an instant dislike to him. Royce took an instant dislike to most people, but as he and Hadrian approached, Royce had the feeling that this time was justified. Two guys stood on the porch. Big field hand types, with deep tans and calloused hands. One was holding Jasmine against the doorframe by her throat. The other, the one who had laughed, was shoving another girl—Royce remembered her name was Abby—off the porch to the ground.
Hadrian no longer had any trouble keeping up, and Royce felt a hand on his shoulder as the bigger man passed him. “You might want to just take a few breaths and let me talk to them first.”
Royce didn’t slow down. “I’m not going to talk—”
“Afternoon, gentlemen.” Hadrian helped Abby to her feet. “What seems to be the problem here?”
“They’re stealing our wort!” Abby shouted.
“Your what?” Royce asked.
“It’s used to make ale,” Hadrian explained, climbing the steps of the porch.
“They’re taking the whole tun!” Jasmine croaked out, causing the man to slap her.
Royce started for the steps.
Hadrian whirled with his hand up. “No! Just relax. Let me deal with this.”
Royce hesitated, more because Hadrian was blocking the way than because he agreed.
Everyone turned to look at Hadrian as he began kicking at one of the pretty lathed spindles that decorated the porch railing. He snapped one off and wrenched it free.
“Hey!” Abby said.
“Sorry, I’ll fix it later, but I need something blunt to hit them with.”
This got the men’s attention and the one let go of Jasmine, who escaped into the house.
“All I can say is you’d better do a good job,” Royce threatened. “If either of them leaves that porch, they’re mine.”
“Royce, they’re not even armed.”
“They have arms—but I’ll remedy that.”
Royce thought the men looked decidedly less confident but no more intelligent, which was proven when the one who had held Jasmine took a swing at Hadrian.
What bothered Royce the most was that the moment the fool attacked, he knew his chances of killing the two ploughboys had passed. He heard the crack as Hadrian broke the first one’s arm with the spindle. Then he doubled him over before laying him out with a blow across the back of his head. And all before the second had taken more than two steps.
To his great pleasure those two steps were away from Hadrian. Royce reached under his cloak, his fingers following the line of his belt to the handle of Alverstone. He was torn between actually cutting the man’s hands off or just slitting his throat. There was no real reason to torture the poor sap; he was just a thug. Still, he did not like how people felt it was safe to push their way into Medford House. An example might deter that, and a pair of hands nailed to either side of the porch steps might just do the trick.
Unfortunately, Hadrian ended Royce’s mental debate when he slammed the man in the lower back, dropping him to his knees. His forward momentum drove his head into the porch railing and cracked another spindle, thereby saving Hadrian the need to do any more.
Royce frowned.
“There,” Hadrian said. “Problem solved, and you aren’t wanted for murder. Isn’t that nice?”
“It’s only nice not being wanted for murder if you’ve actually killed someone. Otherwise, what’s the point? Besides, what makes you think I’m not wanted for murder?”
They entered the parlor and found two more men hauling a large metal tub up the stairs from the cellar, while a flock of women beat on them. They set their burden down long enough to growl and shove a few away.
“That’s enough!” one of the men shouted while drawing a hunting knife. “Next one comes close will get cut!”
Again Hadrian was quick to step forward.
Where was all this speed when we were walking here?
“Who the prince’s peter are you?” the guy with the dagger asked as he watched Hadrian advance.
“I’m fairly certain that tun doesn’t belong to you.”
“It’s ours!” one of the girls shouted. “They’re stealing it for The Hideous Head.”
“I’ll carve you up, too, if you don’t get out of our way.” The man brandished the knife menacingly.
Hadrian reached behind his head and drew his big spadone. Royce had only seen him draw it once before. Usually Hadrian made do with his short and bastard swords. This time it was just for effect.
Hadrian extended the tip of the massive blade. He was a good eight feet away, but the sword crossed most of the distance. “Maybe you’d rather just leave?”
The man shoved his knife back into his belt and turned toward the door.