If she fell, she was dead. She would sink to the bottom of the Thames and never resurface. The board jerked and Arista shrieked. She windmilled her arms to keep her balance, and barely kept herself upright. She raced across the last few feet and jumped onto the solid wood of the wharf.
When she looked back, no one was giving chase, but the man who had clobbered her upside the head stood with his arms crossed over his chest.
“Don’t ye be showing yer face back here, boy, or I’ll beat you and throw you to the fish.”
Arista didn’t wait to hear any more. Her boots skidded on the damp wood as she ran toward Fleet Street. She would meet with Nic, beg him to help her—but the first thing she had to do was find a weapon.
Because the most important lesson Nic had ever taught her was not to trust anyone.
It had been too easy to steal the wicked-looking knife from the butcher’s stall at the market. Concealing it, on the other hand, proved to be a challenge, and she ended up taking another, smaller knife instead. It wasn’t intimidating to look at, but she could still wield it with precision. It was carefully tucked in her waistband now.
She kept her head low as she moved among the crowd of shoppers. Blending in was effortless, and soon she was past the people and skirting the riverbank. The stench of the water was thick in the air. Children in rags ran along the edge, pulling out anything that looked like it could be sold. It was something she had done as a child, too.
Her time away from this part of London, where squalor lurked in every crevice, made her realize how bad it really was. Had she truly lived there all her life? She walked with her forearm over her nose to try and keep some of the noxious smell out of her lungs. Cool air battered her face, bringing the stench even closer. How could she have forgotten the smell?
Only a few more blocks and she’d be at the small dock where she’d spent so many nights wishing for a different life. A few men passed, pulling heavy carts filled with coal. Their skin was covered in soot, their clothes stained with black smudges. She gave them a wide berth, as much for their smell as to avoid attracting notice.
The closer she got to the warehouse, the fewer people she passed.
The old warehouse that sat back from their small dock would be the perfect place to hide and make sure Nic came alone. She hoped he did. If not, it meant that he really had changed—had become the person she dreaded he would.
Someone had boarded up the doorway, but the wood was rotted through, and the boards came away easily enough. After a quick glance around, she slipped inside. The air inside smelled musty with age. Light filtered in from the side of the building that had burned, so she picked her way over to where the cargo would have been loaded into the warehouse. Where the doors met, there was an opening the width of her hand. Perfect. She could watch the waterfront and remain unseen.
She took a roll from her pocket, one she had actually paid a half pence for, and bit into it. As she chewed, the noises around her became clearer. Rats scratched through the debris somewhere behind her. The low horn of a freight barge made the wood under her feet vibrate. The huge vessel came into view to her right, and she watched its lazy progress.
A lone figure moved into her line of sight. He was dressed in a black coat and had a wool cap pulled down low. It could be Nic, or it could be a random worker. Or it could be Wild. Arista stayed hidden.
The person stopped and looked out over the river. He thrust his hands into his pockets, a move so very familiar that her heart ached. It was Nic. But was he alone?
She waited. Several long minutes passed, but he didn’t step away from the riverbank. The first move, it seemed, would have to be hers. She got up and walked out, carefully scanning the shadows around the building for movement. She waited again, behind the pile of broken crates, before stepping out into the open.
She must have made a sound, because Nic turned and their eyes met. She closed the distance between them until they only stood a foot apart and she had to look up to see the expression on his face. “I wasn’t sure if you’d come,” he said.
“Is this another trick? Will I be framed for another murder today?”
Nic cringed and would not meet her eyes. “No. You don’t understand. I tried to tell you to leave—that Wild knew what you were doing—but you came back.”
“Why didn’t he just kill me instead of setting me up for murder?”
“Wild needed a scapegoat. By taking down Lady A, he would solidify his place as Thief Taker. Things have gotten…bad, gypsy. People are accusing him of working both sides. He needed this in order to keep his position untarnished.”
“How long has he been planning this?” A sick feeling turned in her stomach. When Nic didn’t answer, she took a step closer, forcing him to acknowledge her. “How long, Nic?”