Hale, Ginn

by Wicked Gentleman (lit)

  "Well, you were quite good at it," Harper replied.

  "That is all too true. Even Sister Celeste said there was no honest work for a yellow-eyed bastard like me." Morris swept the broom across the store steps, splashing the puddles of water aside. "But Mr. Stone says, such is not the case. He says it like that too. 'My lad, such is not the case.'"

  "Well, congratulations." Harper patted Morris' shoulder and started to turn away.

  "Captain, would you come in and meet Mr. Stone? I told him all about you and how you kept dragging me back to the charity school. He said if I saw you again, I should have you into the shop so he could thank you." Morris leaned a little closer to Harper. "Mr. Stone will probably give you some free grub."

  "Well..."

  Morris looked entreating. It clearly meant a great deal to him to have Harper meet the good Mr. Stone. In any case, Harper thought, having food in his stomach could hardly do him any harm.

  "I can't stay long," Harper told Morris.

  "Mr. Stone will be so pleased."

  "Lead on, then," Harper replied.

  He followed Morris into the red brick building. The warmth of the bakery made Harper feel suddenly more tired. The room smelled of yeast and vanilla. A big man with a black beard and thick black hair looked up as Harper and Morris entered.

  "Mr. Stone. This is the captain I was telling you about." Morris gestured to Harper.

  Mr. Stone frowned slightly as he regarded Harper. Harper knew he looked bad. He hadn't shaved, and his clothes were stained with both oil from Hells Below and mud. He didn't come close to presenting the proper image of an Inquisition captain.

  "I imagined you'd be older," Mr. Stone said after a moment.

  Harper shrugged.

  "Pleased to meet you, in any case." Mr. Stone held out his hand and Harper shook it. Mr. Stone's hand was hot and callused. "You look like you could use something to eat."

  "Thank you. That would be quite kind."

  "Would you like a butter pastry?" Morris asked.

  "Give the man two, lad," Mr. Stone said before Harper could answer. "Make sure they're good and cool first. And check on the beef pies while you're at it." Mr. Stone tossed an oven mitt to Morris. Morris caught it and then darted through a curtained doorway just behind Mr. Stone. A hot billow of air rolled out as the curtains swung behind him. Harper guessed the ovens were back there. His eyes drooped almost closed as the new wave of heat wafted over him.

  He didn't think he had been this warm in days.

  "I hope you don't mind me saying so," Mr. Stone said to Harper, "but you look dead on your feet."

  "I was on my way to bed when Morris saw me," Harper replied. Mr. Stone continued to study Harper curiously. Harper decided to redirect the conversation before Mr. Stone could ask any difficult questions.

  "It really is kind of you to take Morris on," Harper said. "Most men wouldn't want a Prodigal in their shops, much less working for them."

  "Well, I wouldn't want most of them," Mr. Stone replied. "But I can say the same for most of the natural men I know as well. I think Morris was meant to be a baker."

  Harper didn't know if it was his exhaustion or the seriousness of Mr. Stone's tone, but it made him want to laugh. The last thing he would have thought of Morris was that he was born to bake. Not with those teeth. Harper had a jagged scar on his forearm from the first time he had encountered Morris.

  "The heat," Mr. Stone continued, "it gets most men. Hurts their eyes and makes their skin crack. Wears them down, but not Morris. He looks as rosy as a cherub after a whole day back there. He takes to the work better than my own son ever did, I'll tell you that."

  "That's good. I'm glad Morris has found an honest living." Harper straightened as he realized that he'd been slumping over Mr. Stone's counter.

  "But you see, Captain." Mr. Stone dropped his voice. "There's trouble with him taking to it so well."

  There was something about the low whisper that grabbed Harper's attention.

  "How do you mean?" Harper asked.

  "My own boy hasn't been good for anything. He doesn't work and he doesn't give a damn about the shop. He thinks he's going to sell the place when I die."

  Harper frowned slightly, not at the thought of Mr. Stone or his unruly son, but simply at the idea that he was getting dragged into their business. Harper had more than enough troubles of his own at the moment.

  "This bakery's been in the family since my great-great grandfather's days," Mr. Stone went on. "It doesn't just belong to the family; it's what our family is built on. I don't want him selling it. I want Morris to run it after I'm gone, but legally—"

  "It will belong to your son?" Harper finished.

  "Yes. That's the short of it."

  "Well, if you're set on keeping the shop from your son, then you can disinherit him."

  "No, I couldn't do that. He's no good, but he's still my son."

  "Your only other choice is to adopt Morris and will the bakery to him. Your natural son couldn't contest it, if Morris was also legally your son."

  "Can that be done?" Mr. Stone asked. "I've never heard of it."

  "There's no law barring it," Harper replied. "So long as you didn't mind making Morris your son..."

  "I get on with him better than the real one, I'll tell you that. I'd have done it a year ago if I knew I could." Mr. Stone smiled for the first time, and Harper noted that the man's teeth were nearly as crooked as Morris'. "I thought a man of the law might have an answer for me," Mr. Stone told Harper. "That's why I said to Morris that he should have you in next time he saw you. I'm sorry for keeping you from your bed, though."

  "I'm just a little tired." Harper forced his bloodshot eyes open wide.

  "Hey, Morris!" Mr. Stone suddenly shouted.

  "Yes, sir?" Morris yelled from the back rooms.

  "The captain is going to be asleep on his feet if you take any longer."

  "I'm just cutting the bread. I'll be up before you can say your grace."

  "Your grace," Mr. Stone said under his breath.

  "Very funny, Mr. Stone." Morris pushed the curtains aside with his shoulder as he came into the front room carrying a wax paper bag in one hand and a steaming tray of beef pies in the other.

  "This is for you, Captain." Morris handed him the bag.

  "Thank you." Harper could smell the sweet buttery pastries even through the parchment wrapped around them.

  Morris grinned and spun the baking tray in his hand.

  "We've also got customers coming in, Morris." Mr. Stone took the tray from Morris and slid it into the rack of savory pies.

  A gust of cold wetness tumbled in through the door as two nuns rushed in. They were followed by small pack of schoolboys in red uniforms.

  They all seemed so familiar with Morris. The old nun teased him harmlessly, returning his ragged smile with her own toothless one. Harper suddenly thought that Mr. Stone was right. Morris did seem to belong here.

  For a moment he wondered if this was the kind of life that Belimai might have led if he had never been tortured by the Inquisition. Harper tried to imagine Belimai smiling sweetly at a nun. Harper shook his head. He really was delirious from exhaustion if he thought Belimai would have ever done that.

  Harper opened the door and scowled at the frigid air that swept in.

  "God bless you, Captain," Morris called after him.

  "Take good care," Harper replied.

  He trudged up Butcher Street making silent promises to his shivering, tired body. Six more blocks, and there would be a bed. Just six more blocks to a warm, soft bed.

  At last he stumbled up the narrow staircase like a drunk. Belimai's rooms were cold. Wind and rain swept in through the broken windows. Little had changed in the two weeks since he'd last been here. Belimai's desk still lay on its side, surrounded by fallen books and crumpled drawings. The cracked syringes lay where Belimai had thrown them.

  Once Sariel had been arrested for the murder of Lord Cedric's niece, there hadn't been any reason
for the Inquisition to keep looking for Belimai. One Prodigal was as good as another, as far as they were concerned.

  Harper knew he, himself, was another matter. From both Sariel's and Edward's confessions, he knew that the abbot wanted to bring him in specifically. He realized that he was the one remaining person who posed a threat to the abbot and Lord Cedric. Knowing what they had done to the old woman, Harper had no illusions as to what the abbot intended for him. Inquisitors would be waiting for him at his townhouse.

  Eventually nowhere would be safe for him, not so long as the abbot had power.

  Harper took the papers out of his pocket and read over them one more time. Slowly, he went to the wreck of Belimai's desk and picked up a gum eraser. He quickly lifted off the notes the abbot had made on Sariel's confession. What remained was usable. The few details it mentioned matched the confession he had forced Brandson to write.

  Harper felt slightly sick, thinking of Brandson. Or perhaps it was exhaustion. He slipped the papers back into his pocket.

  Harper staggered to the bedroom and dropped the bag Morris had given him down onto the bedside. Then he flopped down onto the thin mattress. He didn't even bother to take off his boots. He simply fell asleep.

  Feverish, splintered images crashed through his dreams. Harper rolled and tossed, twisting the blankets and his clothes. The heavy cloth seemed to pull and shift around him. Suddenly, something icy gripped his leg and jerked at it. Harper kicked hard and bolted upright. His hand clamped around the butt of his pistol before he even took in his surroundings.

  Belimai glared at him from where he had been knocked to the floor. He had one of Harper's boots in his hand.

  "Last time I do you any favors." Belimai stood and then tossed the boot aside.

  "What in God's name are you doing here?" Harper's voice was rough from sleep. His thoughts still foundered in the con-fused wake of his dreams.

  "I live here," Belimai quipped. He pulled off his own shoes and sat down across from Harper on the bed.

  "I wasn't sure if it would be safe to come back, so I was watching for Inquisitors from the roof across the street. Then I saw you just wander in past the open windows and plop down on the bed."

  "You're supposed to be back at the estate house," Harper said.

  "As I recall, so are you." Belimai slipped his legs under the blankets. His knee just touched Harper's thigh. He leaned back against the footboard of the bed and gazed at Harper. "What was so urgent that you had to rush off without saying anything?"

  "Edward needed my help." Harper shifted a little closer to Belimai. He was cold, but it felt good to touch him. It was comforting for no good reason except that Harper hadn't been able to do it in days.

  "Your blonde brother-in-law got in trouble?" Belimai's eyes narrowed slightly. "So, off you race to his rescue. How very gallant you are, Captain Harper. Does he still need you?"

  "He's safe for now, but probably not very happy." Harper worked his remaining boot off, then kicked it out from under the blankets. "Where's Joan?"

  "She dashed off to find you after two Inquisition captains came around the estate house looking for you. Captain Spencer and another Captain Warner or Warr—"

  "Warren," Harper supplied.

  "Yes, that was the name. So, you already knew." Belimai shrugged "In any case, your sister said she had to go warn you. She's looking for you in Hells Below, I think."

  "She just left you?" Harper demanded.

  "Yes. She seemed to believe me when I told her I was a grown man and could look after myself," Belimai replied. "And in any case, the habit seems to run in your family. You did the same thing." Belimai jabbed one of his long toes against Harper's stomach. "I'm amazed you don't have to get up now and save some orphan or find a missing dog."

  "I'm sorry I left you, Belimai, but Edward was taken in by the Inquisition because of me. I had to get him out of there. You of all people should understand that."

  "Oh, I understand. I just don't like it." Belimai jabbed Harper in the stomach two more times. Harper grabbed Belimai's bony foot and jerked him down flat on his back.

  "Are you jealous? Am I only allowed to save you?" Harper pounced on top of Belimai, pinning him against the bed.

  "You really can be an overbearing ass sometimes, you know that?" Belimai glared up at him.

  "Yes, I know." Harper leaned forward so that his lips brushed Belimai's. "But you find me charming anyway, don't you?" Harper smiled and waited for Belimai's scathing reply. Instead he received a sharp jab in the side. Harper winced.

  "I'm too tired to be clever, so you'll just have to settle for that," Belimai said.

  "So, what exactly does a broken rib mean?" Harper asked.

  "A broken rib." Belimai raised a black brow. "I hardly touched you."

  "More's the pity." Harper leaned down again and kissed Belimai lightly on the lips. He felt Belimai's breath catch as they touched. Harper pulled back just enough to see Belimai's eyes close, then flash open again.

  Belimai returned Harper's stare with a hard focus that he had never had before. The soft, drugged languor that Harper had grown so used to was gone. Belimai watched him with a starved intensity. His hands curled across Harper's back and pulled him back down. Belimai's tongue darted between Harper's lips, both invading and inviting. There was a ferocity to the kiss that seared through Harper. He forgot his gentle intentions and train of conversation.

  With rough desperation, Harper pulled Belimai's loose clothes off. He ran his hands across the naked expanse of pale skin, savoring each hollow and curve. Belimai's hands slid under Harper's shirt and skimmed across his nipples. Then, with agonizing care, Belimai stroked the line of Harper s belt.

  He kissed Harper again. Their tongues thrust and twined. Harper's entire body tensed. He kissed Belimai's throat, chest, and hips. His teeth grazed Belimai's arching flesh. Harper lifted his head and kissed Belimai's mouth, passing the taste of his own skin back to him.

  Belimai pulled Harper's pants open. His hands curled around Harper. As if kneeling in prayer, Belimai bowed down and took Harper into the soft heat of his mouth. Harper's breath came in fast gasps. Harper's hips rocked with rushes of pleasure. He forced the sharp thrusts back into gentle motions. His muscles ached from restraint and driving desire.

  Slowly, Harper turned and shifted around Belimai to reciprocate. Belimai moved with him, never lifting his head. They curled around each other, mirroring thrusts, sucking, and arching against each other in a driving rhythm. Shocks of pleasure jolted through Harper's body as Belimai swallowed him deeply.

  Harper drew Belimai's hips closer. Ravenous, Harper sucked at Belimai, exulting in the mounting speed of Belimai's response. Harper's own body already raged beyond his control. Belimai's thrusts quickened, and Harper matched him. They moved together, their bodies locked in desperate motion and exquisite pleasure.

  Ecstasy burst through Harper's body. It washed through his bones, blood, and muscles. It engulfed him in a thoughtless purity far deeper than even sleep. Harper lost himself—every fear, rage, hope, and desire—in a flood of physical joy.

  Then the moment passed. Harper felt utterly exhausted. He managed to turn around and drape one arm over Belimai's spent body. He could hardly keep his eyes open as he pressed a kiss against Belimai's lips. Belimai shifted against him and pulled the blankets over them both.

  "All right," Belimai whispered so softly that Harper hardly heard him, "I do find you charming."

  Chapter Eleven

  'Liar

  When Harper awoke, he was alone in the bed. The dull light of a few streetlamps poured in through the broken windows. Twilight winds tumbled through the torn curtains, carrying fat droplets of rain inside. Harper looked around the room and caught the outline of Belimai's thin body. Belimai moved cautiously. He held his shoes in his hands as he pulled on a coat. Then he crept toward the door, stepping expertly past the floorboards that might have groaned or creaked.

  "Where are you going?" Harper asked.

>   Belimai spun back on him.

  "Out for a walk," Belimai said.

  "It's raining." Harper sat up. A chill hung through the room.

  "I need to stretch my legs a little." Belimai took another step toward the door.

  "I'll go with you."

  Belimai's secretiveness worried Harper. It seemed utterly at odds with the way he had behaved only a few hours ago. Harper grabbed his scattered clothes from the floor. He pulled on his pants. The cloth was unpleasantly cold and still damp from the morning rain.

  "Harper, don't," Belimai said. "Don't come with me."

  "Why shouldn't I?" Harper already had his suspicion.

  "You need to get more sleep."

  "I'm already up." Harper forced a smile. "Try again."

  "I would just rather do some things by myself." Belimai's voice was oddly soft.

  "Are you going to look for ophorium?" Harper quickly crossed the space between them. He should have guessed that Belimai would be tempted to feed his addiction once he returned to the capital.

  Belimai turned to Harper and looked directly at him. Up close, Harper could see the strange expression on Belimai's face. His eyes were wide and oddly shiny. He pressed his lips closed, drawing quick breaths in through his flared nostrils. Belimai had worn the same expression after Mr. Scott-Beck had nearly gutted him. Seeing it again, now, alarmed Harper.

  "Most men are tempted to go back to it." Harper tried to draw the accusation out of his previous words. "It's a hard thing to give up. Normally, people slip a few times before they can make a clean break."

  Belimai said nothing, just stared at him. It wasn't like Belimai to be so quiet or to look so fragile after a mere remark. There was something more to this, Harper knew. But he didn't know what.

  "Look, Belimai. I know how hard this has to—"

  "Be quiet." Belimai held up his hand. "I'm not going out searching for a fix." Slowly, he drew back from Harper. "I'm going to the Inquisition."

  "What?" Harper could hardly put breath behind his voice.