For one long moment the two men stared at each other. Then Sebastian pushed away from the bar and walked toward the man who might—or might not—be his half brother.
Knox stepped back to allow Sebastian to enter the room. “What do you want?” he asked without preamble.
“How do you know I’m not simply thirsty?”
Knox grunted. “Last I heard, there was no shortage of taverns in the East End.”
Sebastian went to stand at the small window overlooking the rear court. The tavern backed up against the wall of St. Helen’s churchyard, so that from here he could see the tops of the weathered gray tombs and the winter-bared branches of the elms standing stark against the sky. He said, “It’s a melancholy view. I can see it bothering some—such a constant reminder of death.”
“Pippa doesn’t care for it, that’s for sure.”
Sebastian turned to look at him. “And you?”
Knox shrugged. “I’ve seen enough death in my life; I don’t need to look out the window to be reminded that life is short and uncertain.”
“Shorter for some than others.”
“True.”
Sebastian leaned back against the windowsill. “There’s a secondhand dealer in Houndsditch named Priss Mulligan. Deals in rare historical objects. I understand you know her.”
Knox reached for a clay pipe and began to fill the bowl with tobacco. “Let’s just say that I know of her. Why?”
“I’m told a fair portion of her merchandise is smuggled in from the Continent.”
“There’s heaps of smugglers working the Channel these days,” said Knox without looking up from his task.
“I hear she received a new shipment last week. Is that true?”
Knox thrust a taper into the fire on the hearth and watched the end flare. “I didn’t have anything to do with it, if that’s what you’re asking.”
“But the shipment did arrive?”
“So I hear.” He held the taper to his pipe and sucked on it for a moment before looking up. “I don’t do business with the woman myself.”
“Any particular reason?”
“The same reason I make it a practice to avoid rabid dogs and vipers’ nests.”
“She’s dangerous?”
Knox blew out a long stream of tobacco smoke. “I think the word you’re looking for is ‘deadly.’”
The two men’s gazes met and held, then broke toward the door as Pippa came in carrying foaming pints of ale. Without even looking at Sebastian, she slammed the tankards down on the simple gateleg table near the window, then left after throwing Knox a long, pregnant glare.
Knox said, “I hear you’ve had a son. A future Earl of Hendon.”
“Yes.”
“Congratulations.”
“Thank you.”
“And yet you’re still chasing after murderers?”
“How do you know I’m investigating a murder?”
A gleam of amusement showed in the eyes that were so much like Sebastian’s own. “It’s the only time you ever come here.”
“Huh. Must be something about the people you know.”
Knox sucked on his pipe, his lean cheeks hollowing, his expression enigmatic.
Sebastian said, “Ever hear of a man named Diggory Flynn?”
“Can’t say I have. Who is he?”
“He doesn’t work for Priss Mulligan?”
“Not to my knowledge. But then, I did mention I try to stay away from the woman.”
“Yet she knows you.”
“What makes you say that?”
“She told me I look like you.”
“Ah.” Knox reached for his ale and took a long, slow sip. He was silent for a moment, as if thoughtful. Then he said, “I hear someone tried to kill you the other night.”
“Where’d you hear that?”
The tavern owner wiped the foam from his mouth with the back of one hand and smiled. Then the smile faded. “Does Priss Mulligan know you’re looking into her?”
“She does. Why?”
“There was a smuggler named Pete Carpenter tried to cheat Priss a few years back. He had a wife and two sons. The little boys weren’t more than four or five. He came home one day to find them chopped into pieces, with the bits deliberately positioned about the house—a head sitting up on the mantel, a leg on the kitchen table, a hand under the bed—that sort of thing. He never did find his wife.”
Sebastian felt the tavern keeper’s words wash over him, raising the hairs at the back of his neck and sucking the moisture from his mouth as the horror of the tale—and its implications—hit his gut. He focused his attention on taking a long drink of his ale and swallowed, hard, before saying, “I take it you’ve heard about Preston and Sterling?”
“I have.” Knox drained his own tankard and set it aside with a soft thump. “Some people are just flat-out evil. Priss Mulligan is one of them. If I were you, I’d be careful. Of yourself, and of your family.”
Sebastian sat beside his library fire, a glass cradled in one palm, his gaze on the golden-red glow of the coals on the hearth. The house lay dark and quiet around him.