Page 100 of Arcane Entanglement

Viggo chuckled.

The cart started moving jerkily. Evander and Rufus clung to the sides, their faces a study in barely concealed discomfort.

As they trundled along country lanes and through dense coppices, Viggo found himself relaxing for the first time since they’d left London. He felt more at ease out here, away from the crowded streets and prying eyes of the city. The scent of earth and growing things filled his lungs, a welcome change from the ever-present smog and stink of the capital.

After what felt like hours of bone-jarring travel but was only some forty minutes in reality, they arrived at a small hamlet. The farmer guided the cart past a pond where ducks swam and into what passed for a main street overlooked by a cluster of downtrodden buildings.

Viggo’s throat constricted at the sight of the destitute thralls trying to carve a meagre living from the land under the blazing sun. It reminded him painfully that this was still the fate of his kind through most of the country.

Evander’s troubled expression lingered on the figures toiling the fields as they left the hamlet behind.

The farmer dropped them off at the edge of heavy woodland some two miles later. Hawk handed him some pennies. The man slipped the coins into his pocket, tilted his straw hat at them, and continued down the lane.

Hawk waited until the cart disappeared around a bend before leading them into the shadows beneath the trees, the path he took barely a trail.

The smell of smoke soon tickled Viggo’s nostrils.

A cottage appeared, nestled in a clearing with a well and a small vegetable garden. Lazy trails curled up from a red brick chimney. The faint clucks of chickens and the sound of wood being chopped rose close by.

A curtain twitched at their approach.

The axe stopped a moment later.

A young, stocky man with dark hair and suspicious brown eyes rounded the side of the cottage, the steel blade at the end of the tool he held glinting as he clasped the wooden handle in a solid, two-handed grip.

Evander stopped,certain he was looking at William Millbrook.

The young man bore an uncanny resemblance to his father.

“What business do you have here?” William called out, making no effort to hide his hostility.

“My name is Duke Ravenwood. I’m a Special Arcane Investigator in Scotland Yard,” Evander said calmly. He indicated Rufus. “This is Inspector Grayson.” He met William’s gaze steadily. “We’re investigating your father’s murder.”

William’s eyes rounded for a split second. His face grew shuttered in the next instant.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about. Please leave. This is private property.”

“Come lad, they only want to help,” Viggo said gruffly.

William clenched his jaw. “And who the devil are you?”

“I’m Viggo Stonewall, the head ofNightshade.”

William flinched. “The information guild?”

“Yes, the very one.”

Fear drained the blood from William’s face. He stepped back, his gaze jerkily scanning the edge of the clearing and the pools of darkness between the trees.

“You’re with them, aren’t you?” His voice grew shrill, his fingers twitching jumpily on the handle of the axe. “You’re with the bastards who killed my father!”

“Enough, William,” someone said harshly.

A woman stood in the doorway of the cottage. She tugged the ends of her shawl closer and studied Evander and his companions with a dull look.

“What do you want, your Grace?”

“We would like your help finding your husband’s killer,” Evander replied.