Durward kicked the man’s legs from under him.
“Run,” he said to the couple by the wall, his attention all on their guard, who swept his blade in a vicious arc, catching Durward’s forearm, just before his other fist crashed into the man’s face.
He’d felled all three, though only temporarily. Very aware of the movement he had seen earlier at the mouth of the alley, Durward cast a quick glance in that direction. Nothing stirred in the gloom. In the other direction, the first man he’d knocked down was back on his feet but haring away from them, back toward the docks.
“Run” had perhaps been an over-optimistic command to the original victims of the attack. The girl could barely hold her companion upright.
The air shivered right behind Durward—panting, rancid breath on his neck. Durward jerked his elbow back hard and connected with flesh. A grunt of pain sounded as his attacker staggered backward and Durward swung to face him before the third man had time to recover.
He misjudged them. The man he’d just elbowed was running after his friend in the direction of the docks. The other was pounding toward the nearer end of the alley.
Incensed that he would now have no one to hail before the Watch, Durward took his trusty pistol from his pocket, and raised his arm to take aim. He could at least get one of them.
A small hand closed over his wrist, bearing it downward with unexpected strength.
“Don’t,” commanded a female voice.
“Why the devil not?” Durward said furiously. “They’d have...?” He broke off, reining in his temper. He was not the victim here. And he doubted the girl was a perpetrator.
Her hand was shaking, though she held on until he lowered the pistol.
He turned his head, and for an instant they stared at each other. Even in the darkness, she radiated exhaustion, resignation. As though the earlier spirit with which she’d told him to bugger off had died a sudden death. An involuntary frown tugged at his brow.
Something rustled, distracting him from the girl in time to see her drunk companion sliding happily down the wall.
“Oh,Papa...” It was barely a whisper, and yet Durward had never heard, never sensed, such despair, such weary anger mingled with resignation, as though this latest hurdle was, finally, more than she could deal with, and yet horribly inevitable.
Without a word, Durward went to the slumped man, grasped him under the arm and hauled him semi-upright. The girl went to his other side.
“I can carry him over my shoulder,” Durward said, hoping it was true. “He’s a dead weight, now.”
“No, I’m used to that. Now that he’s upright, I can manage.” She had her arm around her father’s waist, and his arm draped mechanically across her shoulders. “It isn’t far.” She glanced at him. “Thank you,” she added with difficulty.
She clearly expected Durward to walk away and leave her to struggle on alone, even though she wouldn’t make it to the end of the alley unless her burden woke and took some of his own weight.
“Oh, we inebriates have to look after each other,” he said, and began to walk, dragging the sleeping drunk with him. The girl supporting the other side moved with him, though Durward made sure to take the majority of the load. “I take it the problemisjust the drink, not illness?”
“Drink,” she said shortly. She seemed embarrassed. “I’m sorry. It isn’t far.”
The distance bothered Durward less than the unknown he had glimpsed at the mouth of the alley, so he kept one hand on his pistol as they hauled their burden onward. As if by some instinct, the drunk began to move his feet in vague walking motions, while he muttered to himself. Or to them. It was impossible to tell. At least it showed willing.
The alley emerged into a street with lighting. No one lurked there with clubs or knives to attack or rob them. And the girl had told the truth. It was only the third door to the left of the alley when she stopped.
“I have to thank you for your kindness, sir.”
“Is there someone who can help you put him to bed?”
“That won’t be necessary,” she said stiffly, slipping a key into the lock and turning it. “I can manage.”
Pride and shame, he thought ruefully, for he doubted there was anyone else in the house. But perhaps, also, the neighbours judged and refused to help. “Just tell me where to put him.”
She opened her mouth to refuse, but at that moment, the next door along opened and a large woman in a starched cap emerged, looking both outraged and smug.
“My father will be glad of your company,” the girl said quickly, throwing the door wide and all but hauling her parent inside.
Durward took off his hat and stepped quickly over the door, shoving it closed behind him with his shoulder.
A lamp burned low in the hallway, revealing a spotlessly clean floor and a staircase to the upper floor.
