“Among other things. I abhor magicians who prefer the shadows instead of facing someone outright.”
Kate recalled how, after the fight with Lord Oakham, she had seen Simon upbraiding Nick for some distasteful action to bring the battle to an end. And there was no denying Nick’s reluctance to get involved with Imogen’s problems. Still, he had done something to help the wounded and he was Simon’s friend. She was coming to trust Simon’s judgment. “Perhaps there is more to Mr. Barker than we know.”
Malcolm snorted his skepticism. “I’d certainly wager that.”
“Regardless, Simon Archer is one magician who does not stand in the shadows.”
“Perhaps. We’ll see who stands and fights when hell breaks loose.”
“Do you have character assessments of me then?”
Malcolm slowly raised his eyes to her. His hunter’s countenance sent chills along her spine. Gratefully, her attention was drawn to Simon as he shook hands all around his group of chums, signaled to the barman for another round for them, and came smiling back to the table. He sat opposite Kate and Malcolm, glancing curiously at Kate’s penetrating expression.
He drummed his hands on the tabletop. “We’re on for tonight at St. Andrews Holborn.”
Kate leaned close. “Those men you were talking to are body snatchers?”
“Yes and please don’t stare at them. They went on lookout yesterday at several funerals around town. They were going out to St. Andrews tonight.”
Kate pulled her gaze away from the three men at the bar in their heavy twill trousers and cloth caps pulled down over sullen eyes. “But don’t they want the body?”
“I paid them more to stay away than a body would fetch from the surgeons at St. Barts. In addition, tonight is nearly a full moon; they’d just as soon stay here and get drunk as try to open a grave under the bright eye of Selene.”
Malcolm said quietly, “I’m surprised that men such as these vile resurrectionists are your friends.”
“Friends is a bit strong. Although I don’t begrudge a man a living wage in this day and age.”
The Scotsman muttered, “Wonder if you’d feel the same if it was your carcass they were pulling from the grave?”
“Hopefully I won’t find out for many years.” Simon gave Kate a charming wink.
She raised her glass with relief and changed the subject. “You seem quite at ease. Please tell me you haven’t had cause to sneak into the cemetery before?”
Simon leaned back with a mysterious smile.
“Three o’clock.” Simon snapped his watch shut.
Kate rubbed her gloved hands together. The air was damp and cold, and a stiff wind swirled down Holborn Hill. The gaslights up on the rise flickered cheerfully, but the three companions loitered in the shadows at the base of the hill among ramshackle buildings that crowded the paved sewer that had once been the sparkling Fleet River. No one had passed them in nearly twenty minutes. Even the night cabs had disappeared. The nearly full moon hosted long, silver clouds racing over its face.
“It stinks down here,” Kate pointed out.
“The Fleet ditch is hardly a garden spot. How long does it take the mushrooms to sprout? Do they need more moonlight?” Simon clapped his hands together to warm them, muffled by thick, fingerless gloves.
“They’ll be up by now. We should go on. They won’t stay long.”
Simon pulled his heavy scarf up over his nose.
“That’s not suspicious,” Malcolm said. “You look like a highwayman.”
“Shall we?” Simon extended his arm. She took it and he touched her fingers fleetingly before he led the way uphill They turned off the street through a jumble of buildings, where they found a narrow flight of rickety stairs. They climbed up and slipped into alleys, moving along brick walls and darkened doorways. They made several turns, dodging piles of trash and crawlers huddled in stoops. Simon blazed the trail with authority, banishing any apprehension Kate felt. His confidence was intoxicating. He dove into a narrow passageway that ended in a wrought-iron fence. Through the bars was St. Andrew’s squarish steeple, moon-bathed in a yard full of gravestones and overgrown trees.
Simon bent with his hands laced together. “You first Malcolm, then—”
“Shh.” The hunter held up a finger for silence. He sidled up to the fence, listening hard.
Kate heard nothing but the wind and the flapping of their own clothes. She could almost imagine the tombstones were creaking as if they were growing from the earth. She caught Simon’s eye and he shrugged.