When Gods Die

Someone shouted. “Hey! What you doin’ there—”

Ignoring them, Sebastian kicked in the shattered doors.

The rush of air from the cellars was unexpectedly hot and dry, and already tinged with smoke. For a moment, Sebastian hesitated. If the gunpowder Tom had watched being unloaded was still stored here, Sebastian could be walking into an explosive death. But he didn’t think the men he was dealing with were that careless.

Someone had left a lamp lit in the farthest reaches of the cellar. Sebastian could see the distant, steady glow as he plunged down the worn stone steps. The smoke was thicker here, seeping down through the ceiling boards overhead.

At the base of the steps he paused. The cellar itself was earthen floored. Tall racks of oak barrels and row after row of bottles loomed around him, the air heavy with the rich scents of French wine and brandy overlaid with the stench of burning wood. The sounds of the fire were muffled here, but coming closer. He could hear the distant roar and, from somewhere nearer, an ominous sizzling crackle.

From nearer still came a man’s wet, hacking cough.

Sebastian turned toward the sound, making his way cautiously amidst the towering racks. He found the innkeeper facedown in the earth, his arms flung wide, his legs sprawled. As Sebastian watched, the big man drew his arms beneath him, his weight on his elbows as he struggled to push himself up. The back of his bald head was dark and shiny with blood that trickled down his neck, soaked the white collar of his shirt.

Groaning again, Carter pressed his palms flat to the earth and gave a mighty heave that sent him rolling onto his back. He lay there, his chest jerking with each breath. The blow to the back of his head had obviously stunned him. But what had laid him low and brought a bloody foam to his mouth was the knife someone had thrust between his ribs.

The African’s eyes rolled in his head, his chest heaving again as Sebastian went to kneel beside him.

“You,” said Carter, his face contorting with pain. “What the hell—”

He fell into a fit of coughing. Sebastian slipped his hands beneath the man’s shoulders, raising his head to help him breathe. “Who did this to you?”

Carter’s throat worked as he struggled to force the words out, bloody spittle foaming around his mouth. “F—”

Sebastian leaned closer.

The hot scent of urine filled the air as the black man’s bladder let loose. He was almost gone, his chest jerking as he fought to suck in air. “Fu—”’ His upper lip curled, the light in his dark eyes flickering, fading. “Fuck you,” he said with a rattling gasp. And the light in his eyes went out.

Sebastian eased his hands from beneath the big man’s shoulders and laid the body on the hard-packed earth. The glow in the cellars had taken on an orange tinge. Looking up, Sebastian saw flames licking across the ceiling.

He pushed to his feet. The kegs of gunpowder might be gone, but the cellar’s rich store of brandy would be nearly as inflammable. Sebastian leapt for the stairs, just as the door from the inn’s yard exploded and tongues of fire shot down the steps toward him.

Chapter 49

A thick pall of smoke stung Sebastian’s eyes, tore at his throat. Throwing one crooked arm in front of his face, he took the stairs to the alley two at a time.

He was halfway up the steps when he heard a tearing crack above him. He cast a quick glance over his shoulder in time to see a fiery beam crash onto the stone steps behind him, bringing half the ceiling down with it and unleashing a fierce blast of heat that slapped him in the back, knocking him to his knees.

Coughing badly now, he pushed on, practically crawling the last few steps. Wrapping one hand around the edge of the shattered cellar doors, he heaved himself up and staggered out into the cool of the night.

He stood with his hands braced on his knees, his head bowed as he sucked in great drafts of sweet, life-giving air. Behind him, the inn had become a fiery shell. Lungs aching, he swung around and watched as the walls collapsed inward, sending a torch of flames and fiery embers roaring up toward the cloud-filled sky.

He felt the evening breeze cool against his skin. The breeze, and something else that stung his eyelids and ran down his cheeks as he lifted his face to the sky.

Rain.

SEBASTIAN WAS SITTING on an ancient stone mounting block and wrapping a wet handkerchief around his singed hand when Lovejoy found him.

The little magistrate’s hat was gone, his collar crooked, his normally spotless shirtfront smudged with a black stain that was turning gray now in the steady rain. “If your lad was right and there’d been gunpowder in that cellar, the explosion would have taken out half the street,” said Lovejoy, removing his spectacles to wipe the lenses.

Sebastian used his teeth to tighten the knot in his handkerchief. “The gunpowder’s gone. They probably moved it last night after Tom was taken up. They couldn’t run the risk of someone deciding to investigate the boy’s story.”