Limehouse, London
"Cease," Con hissed as he clamped his hand onto Fam's leg jumping beneath the table. He shoved a half-empty tankard of ale at him. "Drink this and stop looking about like a buzzman about to lift a fat purse."
Fam took a large swallow of the ale and forced himself to still.
He allowed the weak, stale wash of the beer to crawl down his throat and remind him of where he was.
The Bunch of Grapes was better known for the quantity of the brawls every night than the quality of the ale served.
He closed his eyes to keep from searching yet again the tavern crowded with a fair mix of docksmen, sailors, and whores.
The clamor of voices set his nerves to jangling.
Ribald laughter competed with the low growl of anger and discontent which he always heard as a prelude to a beating or a fight.
Tonight, he and Con had no need for either.
"Where is he?" he finally asked. "What does Tottenham Rutherford want with us?"
Con cut his eyes left and then right and leaned closer. "It's about Ban. Now stubble it. Here he comes." Fam's heart dropped and then began to race against his ribs.
Ban, their seven-year-old brother, had been deathly ill for almost a fortnight.
Then suddenly, more than three days past, he had disappeared from Bill Green's lair where they had shared an attic room with Ban and their brother, War the last two years since Ma Dyer sold them to the notorious rookery gang leader.
When Con had questioned Sykes and Dawkins, Bill's right-hand men, about his and Fam's missing brother, they'd said Ban had taken some of Bill's money and run off.
Best to leave him be and not to question Bill about the matter.
They'd made things clear as to what might happen if Con made trouble about that thieving whoreson's disappearance.
As if he and Con gave a nipcheese's farthing about making trouble anymore.
They'd survived all those years at Ma Dyer's baby farm.
They'd lasted these two years since the murdering madwoman had sold them all to Bill.
They'd endured beatings, starvation, evading arrest for every crime a child was capable of, and nighttime visits from men who took pleasure in things no child should have done to them.
Trouble? They ate it for breakfast. And they knew Ban was in no condition to run anywhere.
Not to mention he was too terrified of Bill to even think of stealing from the cold-hearted bastard.
"Evening, lads," the smartly dressed lighterman said, as he slid into a chair across the table from Con and Fam.
His clothes might be neat and a bit fancy for someone who worked the docks, but the unmistakable air of fish, hemp, and the river clung to him.
Rutherford had the face of a pugilist, the broad back of a man who spent his days loading and unloading ships' cargo, the manners of a gentleman, and the shifty eyes of one who likely made more of his living the way Bill Green did than the way of an honest man.
"You're late." At fourteen Con was as tall as most men and had an air of command about him that made people give him a second and sometimes a third look. Rutherford sized him up for a moment. Fam ducked his head to suppress a grin.
"I begs your pardon, captain, I does." The man tipped his hat. Con's expression hardened, his eyes narrowed and his mouth tightened into a thin line. Those who took in the boy's handsome face, golden hair, and lanky form had no idea of the man's icy rage that simmered underneath that cold stare.
Rutherford's exaggerated Cockney did little to improve Con's mood. Fam could tell his brother was about to get up and leave. "I just come from Sally Big'uns," the lighterman quickly continued. "Who had me fetch the last of her things to the Prospect of Whitby."
"The last of her things? Why would she move from The Angel unless.
.." Fam could not finish the thought for the questions running through his head.
Their sister Nell was with Sally Big'uns.
Bill Green had bought her especially to help Sally run the tavern Bill owned.
Nell was safe so long as she was with Sally, safe from the predations of Bill's men and anyone else who dared to even think of crossing the defiant tavern keeper.
Suddenly the noise of raised voices and clinking crockery faded in his mind.
The world became their battered, rickety, back-corner table and the sound of Tottenham Rutherford's low, pointed voice.
"Sally's left Bill Green for good and all," Rutherford said.
"Went to work for Hercules Smythe at The Prospect.
Hercules has been sweet on our Sally for years.
She left Bill on account of she heard what he did with your brother.
" A quarrel broke out at the bar. Swearing voices, a few punches, and the sound of breaking glass rose above the din.
"What the hell do you mean, did with our brother?
" Con grabbed Rutherford's wrist so tight the man winced and gave a little gasp.
Fam prised Con's fingers loose. He caught his brother's attention and shook his head.
His quick glance around the tavern reminded Con where they were.
The Grapes was not one of Bill's or his men's regular haunts, but one never knew who might be listening.
"He beat the boy near to death for being too ill to work the buzz. Had Sykes and Dawkins sew him up in a shroud and dump him in the common grave at St. Giles more than two nights ago."
"Ban's d-dead?" Fam's eyes stung, his bottom lip began to quiver. He was eleven years old, dammit. Long past the age of crying, but Ban...Ban was so little and helpless.
"I'll kill him," Con muttered and started to rise.
"Sit the fuck down," Rutherford fairly growled.
"Couple of resurrection men found your brother last night.
Fair scared the shite out of those two once they got the shroud off him and he opened his eyes.
Babbling and screaming something awful he was.
Only name they could make out was Sally Big'uns.
They took him to The Angel first, but one of the wenches stopped 'em at the back gate and sent 'em on to the Prospect.
He's been hid there with Sally and your sister since last night.
" He stood, grabbed the tankard of ale, drained what was left, and tipped his hat once more.
"She sent me to fetch you and says for you to keep your gobs shut and your eyes open.
Good advice for any man, 'Specially one trying to get the best of Bill Green.
I'm off. Give me a few minutes to lead away any what might be decided to cause you two trouble and then head out the back.
Keep your wits about you. Hercules will be waiting for you in the alley behind The Prospect. "
"Rutherford." Con spoke quietly, but there was always something about his voice that made even grown men pay heed.
The lighterman raised an eyebrow. Con nodded, and Rutherford tapped two fingers to the brim of his hat before he wended his way through the ever-increasing crowd of people in the tavern.
Fam guessed the hour was nearing one in the morning.
Here in The Grapes the evening was just getting started.
Con stared at the door his face unreadable. "Bill's dead," he said softly. "I'm going to kill him."
"They're all dead," Fam replied. "And we'll be killing them. Bill, Sykes, and Dawkins."
"Fam, you--"
"We will." Fam's body went icy as he pushed to his feet.
"All of them." He shoved his way past the milling drunkards, flirtatious wenches, and sweaty whores with their breasts poised to escape their bodices and headed for the back of the tavern.
He didn't bother to look behind to see if Con followed.
Once outside in the back alley, he drew in a lungful of chill October night air.
"We need to find out where Bill is," Con said as he came to stand beside him. He bent to pull the long dagger from his boot. The blade glinted in the moonlight.
"Put that back." Fam stared at him pointedly.
"We left Warrick at the lair. He'll let us know if Bill comes looking for us.
We're going to The Prospect." He put his hands in his pockets and walked hurriedly into the lane that ran behind the taverns and shops of Narrow Street.
Con hurried to catch up and grabbed his arm.
"Why are we going to The Prospect? Bill Green deserves to die, Fam. Dammit we've got to--"
"We've got to make a plan." Fam brushed Con's hand away.
His brother shook, tremors running through his body.
His face had gone white. Con was bloody brilliant when he was calm.
He could outthink the craftiest thief or Bow Street Runner in London.
His mind ran three steps ahead of even Bill Green.
But Con was not even close to calm now. He simmered half a step from madness--flaming, searing madness.
He had taken on the care of Fam, War, Ban, and Nell as a second skin, and he was being flayed alive.
Con raised his head and nodded. "A plan." Fam took the dagger from him and tucked it back into Con's boot. He started walking down the dark cobblestoned lane toward the Prospect of Whitby, and this time Con fell into step beside him.
"Sally will know where we can find Sykes and Dawkins," Fam said as he hunched his shoulders against a sudden blast of wind from the river.
"We'll have to end them before we go after Bill.
If we do him first, those two will be on us like rats on a Thames floater.
" Voices drifted toward them from an alley up ahead.
They ducked behind a building until the two quarreling dandies staggered past them in the direction of The Grapes.
"We need to make sure Ban, War, and Nell are safe.
" Con's tone told Fam his brother had banked his fury.
Whilst Con's anger burned bright and hot, his own turned cold and still.
Even now, Fam considered murdering Sykes, Dawkins, and even Bill, nothing more or less than a simple, sensible task to ensure his survival and the survival of the only family he'd ever know.
Every now and again he wondered if something had broken in him long ago that made him hold life so cheap.
Then again, why wouldn't he? His life had been bought and sold more times than he could count for little more than a few coins or a glass of gin.
"Sally won't let anyone hurt them." Fam and Con ducked into the small yard behind The Prospect. "She didn't have to take Ban in or send for us, but she did."
"Bill will make her pay if he finds out," Con said. "He's probably already got half The Dials looking for her."
"In a mill between Bill Green and Hercules Smythe my blunt's on Hercules. Fuck!" Fam stumbled back as he ran into the solid wall of flesh that appeared out of the darkness.
"That'd be a safe bet, lad." Hercules steadied Fam with a flash of white teeth in an ebony-skinned face. "Were you followed?"
"Not a chance," Con said. "Take us to Ban." He attempted to push past the owner of the Prospect.
"Mind your tongue, lad. You're not in charge here.
" Hercules met Con's icy stare, tilted his head, and smiled.
"She said you were a rum one." He ducked his head as he led them into the rear of the tavern and up a narrow staircase.
The worn wooden steps twisted and turned until they reached the wide corridor that split the attic.
Hercules stopped and pointed to the last of three doors on the right.
"The apothecary, that Madame Zhao, has been up here twice since the lad was found.
She's left medicine and done all she could.
He's in a bad way." In the light of the lamps lit along the corridor Fam saw that Hercules had a brace of pistols strapped across his massive chest and a sword hanging at his side.
With a gold earring glittering against his black skin, the man looked a right pirate, just the sort Fam wanted at his back.
An unearthly cry issued from behind the door Hercules had indicated. "Go," he said. "To get to this room they'll have to come through me." He turned and went back down the corridor as Con and Fam fairly crashed into the room where Ban lay.
"Fam!" Nell cried and flung herself into his arms. He held her tight and gazed at the bed where Ban tossed and turned, screaming wordlessly.
Con sat on the side of the little bed and took Ban's thin battered body into his arms. He didn't say a word, merely rocked back and forth until their brother quieted and settled.
A heavy warmth surrounded him, and he noticed the fire burning bright in the small hearth in the corner of the room that faced the front of the tavern.
Fam glanced over at Sally Big'uns who was measuring a thick, flowery smelling syrup into a tin cup.
She added water to the cup and stirred the concoction together.
She was sporting a black eye and a split lip, both starting to heal.
"Bill?" he asked, as he led Nell to the bed and seated her at the foot.
Nell reached out and placed her hand on Con's back, as if, like Ban, she needed to touch him to feel safe.
"I lost my temper on him," Sally said with a shrug as she came to the bed and handed Con the cup.
"When he told me what he'd done and what he'd ordered Sykes and Dawkins to do.
" She shook her head. "Didn't take too well to me planting him a facer.
When he was done with me and left The Angel, I sent for Hercules.
" She fished around in the pocket of her dress and offered Fam several large lemon biscuits.
He tucked three inside his shirt and one into his mouth.
He was always hungry, and Sally, bless her, never forgot.
Con managed to get Ban to drink the contents of the cup and lay him back on the bed, pulling the worn quilt up to his chin.
"Nell," he said softly and leaned over to kiss her hair.
"Stay with him." He stood and motioned for Fam and Sally to join him across the small room.
Nell scooted up the bed and took Ban's hand.
She brushed his hair away from his face and Fam took in the bruises and scratches and the dark circles beneath their little brother's eyes.
His skin was so damned white, as if he were already a ghost.
"Where can we find Sykes and Dawkins?" Con asked Sally. The edge to his voice had returned. Sally's expression told Fam she knew what his brother was really asking.
"What are you thinking, Con Dyer?"