When Gods Die

Sebastian found himself thinking about two other children, one named Huey, the other Tom. And about their mother, a simple but devout widow, out of work and thrown onto the streets with two children to feed. For her as for untold thousands of women in such a situation, the choices were simple but stark: starvation, theft, or prostitution. Tom’s mother had chosen theft and earned herself a one-way voyage to Botany Bay. Prostitution might have brought her disease and an early death, but it wasn’t a capital crime. Stealing to feed your starving children was.

From what Tom had told him, Sebastian figured the boy had been nine years old when he and his brother stood on the docks and watched their mother being rowed out to a transport lying at anchor in the Thames. The older by three years, Huey had taken it upon himself to care for his younger brother the best he knew how—until they caught Huey for stealing, too. Huey wasn’t as lucky as their mother. They’d hanged him.

Lovejoy’s voice broke into Sebastian’s thoughts. “We discovered the identity of the man you killed by the river.”

Sebastian moved his head against the hackney’s cracked leather upholstery. “I didn’t kill him. He fell.”

Lovejoy’s lips twitched, which was about as close as the dour little magistrate ever came to a smile. “His name was Ahearn. Charles Ahearn. Ever hear of him?”

Sebastian shook his head. “What is known of him?”

“Nothing to his discredit. He served as tutor to Lord Cochran’s sons until the youngest went off to Eton last fall.”

“What’s he been doing since then?”

Lovejoy withdrew a large handkerchief from his pocket and held it to his nose. “That we’re not sure.”

Sebastian had become aware of a heavy stench of raw smoke overlying the other smells of the district, the reeking tannery pits, and the fetid stink of the shambles. Now, as they turned onto Giltspur Street, they could hear shouts and running feet and the roaring crackle of flames, the hackney struggling to wind its way through a thick crowd. From the distance came the steady clang, clang, clang of the fire bell.

“Something’s on fire,” said Lovejoy, craning his neck to look out the window.

Sebastian could see it now. Flames danced across an ancient pitched roof and shot from windows that yawned like gaping holes in a crumbling brick facade. Thick black smoke billowed up to mingle with the low gray clouds ahead.

“Bloody hell,” swore Sebastian, throwing open the door to leap down even before the hackney had rolled to a halt. “It’s the Norfolk Arms.”

Chapter 48

The lane was a confusion of sound, of roaring flames and screaming women and smoke-blackened men, their sweat-slicked faces reflecting the orange glow of the fire as they lined up to form a chain, water sloshing from buckets quickly passed from hand to hand.

Sebastian pushed his way through the crowd, his gaze scanning the flame-licked facade of the old inn. Black ash swirled about him, drifting down like dirty snow. He could feel the heat of the fire against his face, feel it sucking the air from his lungs. As he watched, smoke curled from beneath the door of the little bow-windowed button shop that lay beside the inn. Then the front window exploded and the entire building burst into flames.

A great moan went up from the crowd around him. This was what they all feared, that the fire would spread. It was always a danger in any part of the city. But here, where houses built of dry old timbers leaned toward one another across narrow, twisted streets, one carelessly minded candle could consume an entire district in a night.

Sebastian shifted his attention to the crowd. He expected to find the big black innkeeper at the forefront of the men dashing bucket after bucket on the growing inferno. But Caleb Carter was nowhere to be seen.

Sebastian’s gaze stopped on a tall girl with pale gray eyes and lanky blond hair who stood near the curb. For an instant, her gaze met his. He saw her eyes widen with recognition, her mouth going slack.

She whirled to run. Sebastian was on her, his hand closing hard on her upper arm, jerking her around to face him. “Where’s Carter?” he demanded, hauling her up close to him.

She stared at him, her eyes huge, her nostrils flaring with fear.

He gripped her other arm and lifted her up until her feet barely touched the ground, her head snapping back and forth as he gave her a shake. “Where is he, damn you?”

“The cellars! He said somethin’ about the cellars—”

Sebastian thrust her aside. She stumbled but was off and running before he even turned away.

The fire had yet to work its way down the alley to the back of the inn, although he could hear its warning hiss, smell the acrid tinge of smoke in the sultry air. He found the thick wooden doors to the cellar closed and bolted from within. There would be another entrance, from inside the inn itself, but time was running out. Sebastian grabbed a nearby length of iron and brought it down hard. The wood cracked and splintered.