by Kirk Zurosky
Angus chuckled. “Never going to happen,” he said. “As hard as it may be for you to believe, I took their mother in when she was pregnant with them and had been cast out of her own Pack for being unwed. Those boys are loyal to me.”
“You people really have got to get over that unwed-mother thing,” I quipped. “Like marriage is that much better?” I ignored Jova’s stare of indignation. “Present company excluded, my scary friend,” I said. “Why did you do it? You are not exactly known for your compassion.”
“He didn’t,” Jova said. “It was my mum-in-law’s doing. She felt bad for the poor girl.”
“Now that makes sense,” I said. “And also explains their names, of the Wood, because they have no true Pack.” My eye caught Adelaide repeatedly touching the hand of Connor of the Wood. “And yet, my girl seems to want young Connor to join my pack.”
Angus smirked. “Watch this,” he said. “The girls met these two boys when they were mere babies, before I sent them to train with your father.” He cleared his throat. “Adelaide,” he called. She was too engrossed in conversation with Connor to respond. “Beatrice,” he said. Will of the Wood’s eyes and muscles were too engrossing for Beatrice to hear anything but Will’s voice as he sat flexing his bicep idly.
“Ladies,” I said sharply, and the conversation at the other end of the table quickly ceased, much to Contessa’s and Mary Grace’s amusement. “Your grandfather here has something to say.” Did I just do that?
“Adelaide, Beatrice, do you remember working in the nursery when you were about ten or eleven years old?” Angus asked.
“Yes, Grandfather,” Adelaide said, “I do. Why do you ask?”
“Indeed, Grandfather,” Beatrice added. “How could we forget that? Contessa and Mary Grace would not set one foot in there, but Addie and I loved changing the diapers and bathing those cute little bare bottoms.”
“Yeah, that is what I remember too,” Angus said. “Connor and Will here were two of the babies you took care of. So you all have met before. I forgot about that, what with the to-do in front of the abbey.”
“Well, that is awkward, Bea,” Will of the Wood said, looking at her with an expression that was not remotely uncomfortable. “You’ve bathed my bare bottom!”
“And Addie has probably changed my diaper,” Connor said, reddening. He put his hands to his face, looking genuinely perturbed by this development. He looked up after a moment, suddenly quite happy again. “And frankly, if Addie did, I have no memory of that whatsoever. You, Will?”
“Nope,” Will said, giving Beatrice his most charming smile. “Not one bit. Ladies?”
Beatrice laughed and met Will’s gaze. “I guess I would have to see your bare bottom to really tell.” And with that both ends of the table burst out in raucous laughter, and all was well once again, because for at least a moment or two none of us thought about the Relics, Kunchen, Scorn, or the potentially bloody coronation in the morning.
Angus put his tankard on the table and rose to his feet. “All right, brothers of the Wood, let’s get back to our inn,” he said. “We have to be on our toes tomorrow. Sinister, do you want to go over our plan once again, or do you think you’ve got it?”
“Rest assured Angus that Oliver, Jova, and I will be inside the abbey to protect you from any assaults from the Thief,” I said. “Presumably you can make a grand enough entrance, wearing that little bauble of yours?”
“Don’t worry about that,” Angus said. “No one makes an entrance like a Blackheart. I just hope King George can follow it. You know, I don’t want the archbishop of Canterbury to get confused and accidentally make me the king . . . yet.” He laughed at his own joke a little too heartily, which set me at unease, because if I had to deal with yet another egotistical, power-hungry maniac, I was going to scream.
“And we will be outside with the girls disguised as soldiers to keep a lookout for the Thief or Scorn,” Will said. “Bea, I could really use a watch partner. Connor tends to fart a bit after he drinks too much ale.”
Connor slammed down his tankard. “Not true, Addie, not true,” he said, reddening once again. “But all the same,” he said to Adelaide, “why don’t we team up?”
Contessa and Mary Grace exchanged a look that one would give a hissing rattlesnake. “Guess we are stuck with each other,” Contessa said with a grumble. “Lucky me, I am hanging with the runt.”
“Yeah, looks that way,” Mary Grace agreed. “Maybe in the process I can try and find you a man, since you are the only one of us that doesn’t appear to have one.”
Contessa’s face darkened. “Take that back, Mary Grace, or I will make you take it back with my fist!”
Mary Grace laughed. “Oh, I don’t think you can back that threat up,” she said. “Especially with Father and what’s-his-new-name that used to be our grandfather here to keep the peace.”
“I lead the Pack and that includes you two ladies, so settle down,” Angus said.
“Indeed,” I added, irritated that Angus had butted in first with his boil-encrusted face. “You are family, so don’t jeopardize what the family is trying to do.”
“Just because you are family doesn’t mean you have to be friends, or even like each other, Father,” Mary Grace said, drawing her pistols. “Addie and Bea get to hang out with those handsome twins, but no worries, I will protect Contessa and my family with these even more handsome twins! Come dearest sister, our party is about to leave.”
Contessa pushed by her, not hiding her anger one bit. “Runts follow the leader of the litter,” she said.
Mary Grace smirked. “Runts fight harder,” she said. “You know, since Mother never gave me much in the way of warmth, food, love. . . . Shall I continue?”
“No!” Angus and I said in unison.
I watched the girls leave the inn under the “escort” of the Wood brothers. But for Mary Grace and Contessa accompanying them, I would have joined them. Oliver had made no move to rise, and curious, I stayed seated. Jova hovered, just waiting for Oliver and me to move. Angus belched and made to put his hand through long flowing blond locks that were no longer there. He looked a bit irritated. “I really do hate reinventing myself, but you know one thing always is going to ring true in whatever incarnation I am—I still hate you, Sinister,” he said, glaring at me with those cold, soulless Blackheart eyes. “Now that the ladies are gone, we don’t have to keep up appearances. Any more of this jolly good fellow nonsense, and I think I will retch.”
I bared my fangs at him and saw Garlic contemplating how the back of Angus’s leg might taste. “Don’t even think about it, girl,” I said to her. “Or you will be the one spitting out the hide of this mangy, shrunken-down cur.” I fought the great urge to introduce my foot to his privates. Or perhaps just one small swift kick to the knee to make sure he limped into the abbey tomorrow?
Jova put himself between us. “Do your jobs tomorrow,” he said. “Then go back to hating each other.”
Angus shrugged. “Oh, I will do my job,” he said, spitting down at my boot. “Sinister, just make sure you keep from sticking your cock in some two-bit whore before the big day tomorrow. If I remember correctly, it is kind of your thing.”
“Don’t sleep with your fat ass in the air tonight, Angus,” I said. “Or you are liable to catch a head cold. I wouldn’t want you all sniffly for your grand entrance.”
“Good riddance to you all, and don’t interfere with the Pack,” Angus snarled, and left the inn.
I sat back down at the table and looked to Oliver. “Angus is such, such . . .” I was floundering for words. “If some enterprising strumpet took a bag of water from the Thames and used it to clean her privates after servicing the entire King’s Guard every day for a month, and twice on the Sabbath, that would be Angus!”
“Angus cannot be trusted, Sirius,” said Oliver. “He has deceit in his eyes.”
“Just h
is eyes?” I said. “He stinks of self-promotion, and if I hear one more word about that Pack of his, I am going to kick him in the sack. Now, what about the Wood brothers? Aside from wanting to do more than just court my girls, they seem like proper lads.”
“They are,” Oliver said. “But I can’t tell you why they are following Angus around like puppy dogs. Loyalty? Obligation? They certainly know better. However, they are not our concern tomorrow. But I would ask you to not take the machinations of the Pack lightly, Sirius. They are a formidable group, and the only reason they are sort of on our side is that their goal just happens to match up with ours.”
“For now,” I said.
“Yes,” Oliver agreed. “For now. But their fighters are not to be trifled with—you know that showdown at Harvis’s farm could have had an entirely different result but for the Bogeyman.”
“True, because only the Pack would employ a deranged loose cannon like Adams,” I said. “He is—”
“Completely out of his mind,” Jova said. “He makes folks at the madhouse look sane.”
“Crazy serves no master other than whatever voice or voices happen to be speaking in their minds,” Oliver added. “And whoever Adams is listening to in there is one twisted chap.”
“So don’t turn your back on him,” I said. “If I were the Wood brothers, I would make it a habit of sleeping with my eyes open. But you were waiting for Angus to leave, Oliver. What’s your concern?”
“Before I joined you all here, I got a tip that we may want to go over to the Wilted Lily,” Oliver said. “It seems an old friend of yours has taken up residence there, probably because of the Lily’s shady reputation.”
“Who would that be?” I asked.
“I believe you call him the Doorman.”
I nodded. “He does seem to turn up in the same locales that I frequent these days. Perhaps that is not a coincidence.”
“Oh, it’s not a coincidence,” Jova said. “Remember, you are the one that basically got him freed from Hell. That is the kind of thing I imagine would make someone eternally grateful. And he is going to try to pay you back for the rest of his life in the only way he knows how—information.”
“To the Wilted Lily then,” I said, dropping some coins on the table.
As we walked through the dark streets of London, heading for the Wilted Lily, gangs of padfeet grew more and more common. One group made the mistake of trying to shake us down for gold, and Garlic quickly made them all run away with permanent limps. She was so quick and efficient that I did not even bother drawing my blade. Jova watched her tear into the padfeet’s lower limbs with a bit of detachment. When you had honed your craft in the Underworld, nothing fazed you.
A light mist began to fall as the Wilted Lily appeared before us. A ramshackle old inn with rotting boards and the stench of urination and defecation all about, it was surely bringing back the plague to thin the mortal herd. “Nasty place,” I said, watching Garlic pick her way through the trash, sniffing at choice bones but nibbling on nary a one. “Where is the Doorman?” I said, seeing his usual post at the front was vacant.
I pulled open the door and braced for what I expected to be a room that was dark, smoky, and full of danger. I was shocked to see lace tablecloths, fine china, and crystal glasses filled with what I guessed was the best wine in the city. This grand entrance was filled with so many lanterns that it appeared to be daylight. An inviting fire roared in the hearth, over which a pot of the most mouthwatering stew sent its tasty aroma wafting toward us. Garlic perked up and barked for service. She wanted a bowl, and she wanted it now! “Give it a minute you hungry little Maltese,” I said. I sniffed. “Oh right, venison stew. Fine. Let me find the Doorman, and I will get you a bowl.” She barked again, quite indignant. “Two bowls.” I corrected myself.
I scanned the room and did not see anyone with greasy, scarecrow-looking hair or spindly legs. Perhaps the Doorman was not here tonight, and that explained why there was no one at the door. A serving girl came up to us. “Kind sirs,” she said, “the lord in the corner would like you to join him for some ale and stew.”
I looked to the corner and saw a well-dressed man waving to us. Our eyes met, and I was looking into the piercing-blue orbs of the Doorman. He looked heavier, or I guess the correct description was healthier. His cheeks were flushed with the vigor of life, and his eyes were clear and calm. We walked over to the table, and as quickly as we sat, ale and stew were in front of us. Garlic was not forgotten and made quick work of her first bowl and did not hesitate to devour the second.
The serving girl curtsied. “Let me know if you need anything else, milord.”
“Doorman,” I said. “You look great! What happened? The last time we met, you were collecting gold from lordladies at the Den of Angels. You may or may not remember Jova from Hell, and this is my friend Oliver.”
“I am the Doorman no longer,” he said. “Nice to meet you Oliver and Jova. I am sorry, but the only thing I remember about you is that you came with Sinister. Let me properly introduce myself, Sir Johnson Pecker at your service.”
“You have got to be kidding me,” I said. “That unfortunate bit of nomenclature cannot possibly be your name. You must still be a bit muddled in the brain. I mean, you look great, but . . .”
“No,” he argued, “I come from a long line of Peckers.”
“Clearly,” I said. “Or you would not have ended up in the Underworld in the first place.”
“Johnson, or uh, Sir Pecker, if you prefer,” Jova said, “how did you finally remove the fog of Hades from your consciousness? She taught me much about the human mind and fear, but I thought that too much of the essence of that foul place had seeped in through the holes you used to have in your head.”
“Johnson is fine,” he said. “Or you can call me Sir Pecker. I don’t care which frankly. I am just happy to finally know who I am—Sir Johnson Pecker!”
“Anyway . . .” I said.
“Right,” Johnson said. “One day shortly after the coronation of the first King George, a wizened old man came up to me and called me a pecker. Well, naturally I set about to give him a proper thrashing, but in the course of my putting my fist in his face, he spit out that I was his long-lost lord, and he could prove it with a painting of me in his lord’s house—my house! I immediately stopped my beating and demanded he take me to the house. First time I had left a door in centuries, and I didn’t even think about it.”
“What are the odds of that?” I said, digging into my second bowl of stew. “But you are no lord!”
“Turns out I had established an identity for myself here in London before I went to Paris and had that nasty run-in with the witches in that brothel,” Johnson said with a grin. “I left a torrid journal for myself to read that detailed my success as a privateer. I had, or have, such a colossal ego, and this rather detailed tale of my exploits really helped to fill in the gaps. I don’t know if what I read about myself was true, but before I went to the netherworld, I was apparently having one hell of a good time, so that is a bit ironic, right?”
“Life does indeed work in strange ways,” Jova said. “And the workings of the Underworld do seem to find a way to mirror what is going on here in the so-called real world. Somehow a person always seems to get their just desserts, be they good or bad.” He tapped his temple. “I think I just found another thesis to study. Perhaps I shall research the role of fear in destiny.”
Pecker gave a gigantic snort of derision. “Well, the only thing I am going to study is what to do with all the gold I left myself,” he bragged. “I am loaded with gold, boys, absolutely loaded. I guess I somehow knew that my recklessness would catch up with me someday, so I created Sir Johnson Pecker, and I left a trail, figuring I would eventually find my way to London, and that one my servants’ descendants that I paid and left instructions to scour the whorehouses of London for me would eventually find me when I made m
y way back. And as my luck would have it, they did!”
“You were a bit of a cad, or maybe you still are,” Oliver said. “Perchance was the name Lord Richard Longphallus already in use?”
I stifled a grin, and Johnson laughed. “It is not as if I actually thought I would use this identity,” he said. “But since I don’t remember my real name, it’s all I have. I am proud to be a Pecker. A rich Pecker at that!”
“So why do you look so good, and how is it that you can now form a logical sentence in the King’s English?”
“That is a great question,” he said. “And I could attribute it to all the good food I have been eating. A good meal will fill the belly and settle the mind. By the way, I own this tavern. But really, I think once I had an idea of what I was and who I was, I suddenly felt complete once more. I was not the pathetic Doorman. I am Sir Johnson Pecker, a lord and a gentleman!”
“Well, not a gentleman,” I said.
“No, true,” Johnson said. “Not remotely. But I am going to avoid the bordellos and houses of ill repute. And witches. And bitches. And witches that are bitches. But I digress.”
“What news do you have for me with the coronation nigh?” I asked, lowering my voice to a whisper. “Is the one I used to call the creeper here? Have you seen him?”
Sir Johnson Pecker shuddered, and for a moment looked a bit like the addled old Doorman from years past. “Thankfully, no!” he exclaimed. “But a few weeks ago, a lion-maned young barrister came into the tavern, and after a few too many drinks was more than happy to blab to me about how he was going to take down the notorious assassin Sirius Sinister. I assumed he meant kill you, but he corrected me.”
“Martin!” I exclaimed. “That idiot can’t do anything to me. He is a divorce lawyer in training at Immortal Divorce Court.”
“Well, apparently he thinks he has you right where he wants you,” Johnson said. “Take it from a Pecker, I know an asshole when I see one, and Martin is well on his way to being a first-rate one. Most attorneys are assholes, of course, but I think he is especially motivated to go after you.”
