With that, William turned on his heel and strode away down the hallway, leaving Henry alone and disgruntled.
***
The streets got progressively narrower and filthier, the deeper they went into the nastier part of the city. At this hour of the morning, many of the houses were shut up. People were either working, or sleeping off the excesses of the previous night.
A few unsavory-looking characters lounged in doorways and alleyways, watching the carriage with unconcealed interest as it crawled by.
“Is it much further, your lordship?” the driver asked uneasily. “This isn’t a good part of London.”
“I agree,” Henry responded shortly. “But my brother is here, so onwards we must go. We’re nearly there, I think.”
He was right. Another few minutes of rutted, filthy streets and impolite stares, and the carriage rolled to a halt in front of a lopsided, narrow building withThe Sunward Sidepainted on it with crude strokes.
Steeling himself, Henry slid out of the carriage.
He landed directly in a pile of filth, right up to his ankles.
Oh, just wonderful. It’s barely midday, and already I’ve been the unluckiest man in the world.
There was no time to mope now, of course, so Henry scraped off his dirty boots as best he could and pressed on inside the inn.
It was no better inside, but he’d expected that. The place was filthy and smelt foul, the ceiling low and the walls crooked. A handful of unspeakable chairs and tables clustered together. It took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the gloom, but he was soon able to make out a woman, standing at the other end of the room, a once-white apron strapped around her wide waist.
“About time you got here,” she snapped. “He’s run up quite a tab here. I wrote it all down, take a look.”
Henry reluctantly glanced at the list and sighed.
“Did he share all of this purchased alcohol with companions, or…?”
“Nope. Drank it all himself, then collapsed. Threw up twice and looks like he’s heading towards a third time.”
Henry sighed. He withdrew a few pound-notes and laid them on the table.
“Keep the remainder,” he said shortly. “Consider it a payment for your discretion.”
The woman brightened visibly, snatching up the money. “He’s over there,”
She gestured with her head towards a particularly dark corner.
Henry turned and squinted into the darkness.
Sure enough, there was Alexander. He was slumped over a table, cheek stuck to the filthy wood, mouth open. He was snoring, ever so slightly.
A collection of empty tankards sat in front of him, and what looked to have been a whiskey bottle, before it rolled off the table and smashed around Alexander’s feet.
Picking his way through the broken glass shards and puddles of mystery liquid, Henry reached his brother.
“Alex? Alex, wake up, it’s me.”
He tapped Alex’s shoulder, but only received a muffled groan in response.
“Come on. Time to go. Up you get.”
Henry was not in a mood to cajole his stupid little brother. Winding an arm under his shoulder, he hauled Alex into a sitting position, and then up onto his feet.
“Don’t bring him back!” the landlady called, leafing through the pound notes.
Henry half-turned, weighed down by Alex’s weight.
