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Determined not to lose an opportunity to gain information, Will held out a hand toward Richards. A second later, the warm haft of a blade slapped into his palm.
The intruder’s eyes narrowed. “You won’t do it. You need—”
His words ended in an agonized scream as Will plunged the business end of the knife into his side.
“You’re already dead,” Will whispered as soon as the man drew breath. “But I can make your passage a lot more painful if you don’t tell me what I want to know.”
“I don’t know nothing,” the man spat. “Nothi—aaaaaaugh!”
Hot blood gushed against Will’s hand. Careful. Don’t want him to die just yet.
“Boucher,” gasped the man, squeezing his eyes shut. “It was Boucher!”
“And where is she now?”
No answer. He twisted the blade a little, inured to the other man’s pain. “Tell me!”
“I don’t—I don’t know! I swear she don’t tell us nothing!” said the bleeding man, defeat in his eyes. “We gets all our orders from Fergus!”
Will bent closer. “And who is ‘Fergus?’”
“Her right hand,” wheezed the dying man. “He’s the only one she trusts.”
“Where can I find this Fergus?”
“A wine cellar under the Dove’s Nest. There’s a hidden passage in the back.”
The Dove’s Nest was a fairly decent tavern at the east end of Covent Garden. “And that passage leads to…?”
“The catacombs under the church across the road—but there’s no way into them from there. The church sealed it after the floor collapsed. It happened before I was born.”
“You said the passage is hidden. How do I find the entrance?”
Brown eyes widened, staring into Will’s. What the dying man saw there must have told him there was no hope. “There’s a door at the end of the third row. It looks like a wine rack attached to the wall, but the bottles is all empty. It slides out of the way if you pull it to the right. That’s where you’ll find The Devil’s Hole. I’ve been through only once. I never want to see it again. I swear I don’t know nothing else—please!” whined the man piteously, his blood-slick fingers clutching at Will’s hand.
Nodding, Will pulled the knife free, wiped it and his hand off on the fellow’s sleeve, and stood. “We need to see if any of the others tell the same story.”
“What shall I do with this one?” asked Richards, taking back his blade.
“Let him make peace with God.” Will watched as the fallen man’s eyes closed tight and his waxen lips began to move in fervid prayer. “When he’s gone, come find me.”
Richards grunted assent and squatted down beside the dying man.
As Will walked away, to his surprise he heard Richard’s voice join softly with the intruder’s in reciting The Lord’s Prayer. He hurried to the larder to find out what, if any, information could be gleaned from the other captive.
This one was in much better condition—and far less cooperative. In the end, all Will was able to determine was that the other man’s tale of a hidden bolt-hole was true. The obdurate fellow insisted he knew not where it was and had heard of it only in rumor.
Will could tell he was lying. Sighing, he addressed Benjamin and Gerald. “He’ll offer no further information—at least not without persuasion—and we have neither the time for that nor the leisure to risk him sending a warning from his cell.”
“Understood,” murmured Gerald.
Will strode from the larder, shutting the door on the outraged captive’s protest. With any luck, the frightened man would change his mind in time to save his own skin. If not…
He had no qualms about ordering such a creature’s death. The unrepentant brute had been sent to commit murder. Doubtless, he’d done it before. Boucher wouldn’t send an inexperienced assassin to rid her of her greatest enemy.
Reports trickled in over the next hour. An astonishing number of men had been sent to make an end of the Archangel. No fewer than half a dozen skirmishes had occurred in the streets and grounds surrounding the house. Three of his colleagues had been wounded, one badly enough his death was predicted before dawn.
It angered Will to see such a waste of life. Boucher had a lot to answer for, and he’d make certain she did so.
