A woman asked, “Do you feed off the hearts of your captives?”
Only the contents of their coffers, Nick thought. What did they think he was, a savage barbarian?
A girl sitting on top of a man’s shoulders shouted, “Are you really the most skilled man on earth with a blade?”
Nick scowled. He hadn’t set foot in England for nearly two decades, but he already had a reputation that would send him to an early grave. While he prided himself on his skills, he’d never claim to be the best. And no matter how much he had practiced over the years, he could not equal Alex’s artistry with a knife. His shoulder throbbed at the memory.
Looking up at the girl, he said, “Give me a knife, and I’ll show ye.”
The crowd guffawed, but he didn’t care. He had to try, to seize every opportunity, or it would be the gallows for him.
Connell threatened the crowd. “The Blade is a dangerous man, a ruthless, bloodthirsty pirate. Nobody is safe until he drops from the gallows.”
One man in the audience jeered, “You’re no better than that filthy pirate, you thief-taker.”
Nick might have been offended, but one sniff confirmed that the man merely spoke the truth. Nick had smelled better.
Most thief-takers, the honest ones, hated that term, preferring to be called something more elegant. Like “enquiry agent” or some such. Connell was no different. To a degree, Nick sympathized. He would rather be called a privateer than a pirate. Privateers—the honest ones—did not hang. Pirates did.
Connell’s voice was stiff, his laugh hard. “Call me what you want. I am the one who will collect the bounty when The Blade is convicted of his crimes against humanity.”
Which was precisely the fate Nick was determined to avoid.
Another voice from the crowd said, “Too bad it’s not Monday.”
Nick swallowed hard. Monday was hanging day at Newgate. Every pirate in the world knew that.
The hairs on his arms stood on end. Someone in the crowd was watching him in that way that piqued the senses and alerted one to danger. Nick had learned not to ignore those warning signals. He scanned over the people pressed against the carriage until he met eyes with a man with gray whiskers wearing a high-collared, blue coat with brass buttons and a tall, black hat. He spoke, but Nick couldn’t hear him clearly. “Darcy,” heseemed to say.
Darcy. What was a Darcy? A surname? A place? An insult he hadn’t yet heard?
The carriage jolted forward, and daylight faded in the shadows of Newgate’s high walls. They looked sturdy. Sturdier than the rotten, crumbling walls of Marshalsea Prison where pirates were normally housed until their conviction. Connell wasn’t taking any chances.
Nick tried to keep his bearings as he was shoved down damp corridors, around curving, dark halls, and up a floor of stairs until he was shoved into a cell. The door slammed behind him before he caught his balance.
Alone in a stone cell, without even a chair to sit on, Nick inspected his new abode—only some straw in a corner and one barred window too high and too small to be of any use.
Shadows passed over the light seeping under his door. The jingling of keys and the groan of a chair being sat on. So, he had his own guard outside his cell. It was blasted inconvenient to have the reputation he did.
At least his chains were off. Nick hunkered down on the bed of straw and tried to sleep. But without the lull of the ship, he couldn’t relax.
He rubbed the ragged scar at his shoulder and saw the blue eyes and raven black hair of the termagant who’d put it there. Fool woman. When he got out of this place, he’d find her, and he’d strangle her … or kiss her senseless. He still couldn’t decide which, and his indecision blackened his mood once more.
Alexandra had betrayed him. Her name should fill him with hate.
But he missed her.
CHAPTER 12
Make haste to Newgate Prison.
Ask to see Nicholas Blackburne. Do not take no for an answer.
Be very cautious.
Rouncewell
Richard followed the guard along Newgate’s corridors. Around one turn, a section stretched several feet in front of them, lit only by one sconce on the wall. At the end of the hall was a bolted metal barrier with hinges as thick as clubs. A guard sat in front of the door, a pistol in his lap.
